The Patriot

He stands in front of a cold black wall,
in front of a Bronze Lady,hand held tall.
In front of every war we've fought,
in front of each piece of land we've bought.
In front of each person,
every color and band.
In front of each statement,
no matter the stand.
In front of each person,
no matter their choice,
To stand for their country,
or to be making noise.
He'd shed tears,
many times they've fell,
Death Marches,and such,
and when two towers fell.
He grieves for our losses,
no matter the toll.
And was there when the statements were made,
like "Let's Roll".
Ever guarding,protecting,
some call him "Uncle Sam".
He slowly scans the country,
then kneels upon the land.
He grabs at the ground,
and holds it up,
a small handfull of dust,
"This is a scoop of Freedoms soil,
make of it what you must".