As we approach the 4th of July, I thought it would be a good time to post a couple of poems by Steven G. O'Dell, a fellow writer.
Little Miss Liberty
Little Miss Liberty sat on her tuffet, with not in the world a care. Along came a spider and sat down beside her; she thought it no reason for scare.
"I see," said the spider, "that you have no silk to adorn yourself and look grand. If you wish, I could loan you some of my own. I suggest that we start with one strand."
Miss Liberty saw how it shone in the sun, how it glistened and glimmered so bright. She thought, "There's no harm, as he says it's a loan, and I'm not sure that now I look right."
So, accepting his offer, she willingly wound the strand about herself. Indeed it glistened and glimmered and shone, but she thought that a few more might help.
And putting aside all her conscience and pride, she asked if he'd spare her some more. The spider exclaimed, "It would be such a shame to hoard what I have in store."
And being a kind and giving soul, he gladly did bestow, one shining silk thread after another-- row after brilliant row.
How grand she looked, how glorious, how marvelous indeed; but then she noticed her arms were bound and she could not move her feet.
"Just one thing more," the spider said, "to add the crowning glory." Then tightly he wrapped her face and her head and ended her life's story.
Perhaps you see a moral here, that you could learn from, too. A man from the bank or the government may one day approach you.
An offer may be made to help; a loan, a gift or grant. Your liberties required in turn, but you should say, "I can't.
"The cost for what you give is high; your gift is one I fear. I will not sell to anyone--my freedom is too dear."
Believe life's struggle keeps us free--take not the easy road. Resist dependence on another, make freedom your abode.
A Letter to America, In Verse – © Steven G. O'Dell 2008
Goodbye, America; goodbye--'tis bittersweet to see thee die;
yet, it seems, there is no choice. You no longer hear the pleading voice
that cries for justice, sure and true, as once so long ago did you—
when tyrants' hand upon you heavy, did a burdensome weight so levy
and patriots were traitors called, who more than man by God were awed
and loved their land and freedom so, as only God above could know.
And valued was the right to fail, for honest effort was no jail.
We were not spared of consequence and learned how daily to repent.
Yea, truth was cherished most of all—we reveled in its hallowed hall;
Yet, along the path we somewhere strayed and step-by-step we left the grade
That led to peace and happiness and taught the humble soul to bless
A land of
opportunity with no promise, but to be free.
I only pray you change your fate--before it's lastingly too late.