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Freedom Through The Press
Tears streamed down a broken face
That stared to the ground where his father lay
At lexington was he dying this day
For a battle lost, and a war begun.
In a young boys hand, A father lifted his head
To look at a son, so confused and afraid
Who understood not, for what his father bled
Why he would fight, What reason for death.
And so as they looked eye to eye
The boys innocent lips formed the question, why?
Then With inhuman strength, A father lifts dying fingers to sky
Pointing to a cloth, flying on high
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Word count: 1280 - Page count: 5
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