©2017 Rolland G. Smith
The brittle actions of a soul
Who has the power to control,
Must be exposed for hidden holes
And wells of wrong both new and old.
Elections are the bane of time
As things are said to garner votes
And truth is kept in covered grime
And facts are held in crumbled notes.
Where are the noble ones to serve
And be the president of all?
We need the gift of grit and nerve
To stop the growing, spreading pall.
Has our republic run its course?
Is nothing left but yells and shouts?
We need compassion to divorce
Us from the lies and lingering doubts.
Our difference is not our strength.
It’s tolerance that makes us strong
For liberty to have its length
Stand, be counted, when it is wrong.