Tuesday, November 2, 2010

The Vote, the prize

The Prize
(by R.P.Edwards)

Faithful escort
Hallowed head
The sacred dead
Waiting, as we leave our bed
To take us to…the prize
Bought with blood
And widow’s tears
The orphan’s cry
That lasts for years
The escort, waiting
Ever near
To take us to…the prize
And so arise!
And don thy right!
And join with deeds
The heroes fight!
Whose measure, full
Embraced the night!
To give to us…the prize
And with their leading
Sober tread
Complete the task
The joining thread
To add “amens!”
To sermons said
The taking…of the prize
And with our choice
And duties done
We bid farewell
To daughter, son
Until again, they rise…and come
To take us to…the prize

It was a simple text message from my recently married, eighteen year old daughter.  “Don’t forget to vote :p”  Reply: “Thanks 4 the reminder. Did you vote yet?” Reply: “Yup, just did”

I must admit, I felt a bit of gratification.  Although, honestly, my contribution to her “sense of duty” may have had little to do…with me.  She has, after all, married a young man--in many ways mature beyond his years.  But I hope, in a small way at least, that my “being around” caused her to take the time, this day, to be a citizen.

Yes, election day.  When we, the privileged children of heroes, are given the opportunity to validate their sacrifice.  As the poem above implies, I envision the hundreds of thousands, in dress uniform, resurrected for the day, waiting to escort each citizen…to the polling place.  Sadly, many will be left…alone.  But, on this day, many will be followed to the place of decision.  And, unlike some lands where the walking and doing…may cost them their lives, we may pass to and fro safely, because the dying…was accomplished by our fathers.

To conclude: if you haven’t done so, GO VOTE!  And then, sit back and await the results.  It’s an American thing.  An imperfect, sometimes raucous thing.  But, the privilege was paid for by the blood of patriots and I, for one, will not dishonor or disparage their gift…the prize.

In the above Poem the phrase, “And widow’s tears, the orphan’s cry that lasts for years” is from the Song, The Stone (listed in the video bar).  I’d be honored if you took a few moments to view…again.


No comments: