Windmill

Along a little brook,
past the fields of our fathers,
Over grounds once soaked by civil blood;
I hold my head high in their stead.
I show my gratitude with a silent salute.
Wandering down the well traversed trail,
I slink between the lost and the now.
Pondering the injustices as I search for traces;
Any proof the loss was worth the price.
There!
Upon a rock encrusted plateau,
Standing vigilant as Lady Liberty herself.
A single quartz stone,
Weathered almost to dust by years of neglect.
As forgotten as the names that once adorned its face.
Lying battered under the unwavering windmill,
One clear sentiment remains.
The fallen stood against tyranny;
mighty as the windmill stands against the tests of time.
And I am the better for it.