The flags are folded for a future day
The rally cries are silent in the books
Yet shouts now fill the streets
At Democracy’s rough grabbing
By those who see her travail
Boastful winners mock and laugh
Blinded by a future writ from the past
Where they may yet come to wonder
Who will cry for them
If we’re gone?
©Heather Kilbourn
Heather Kilbourn 