The release was unintentional, the Public was assured.
No vaccines were available, not that they’d have cured.
For every ten infected, they knew that eight would die.
more lethal than Ebola, and the people wondered why?

It was born in a researcher’s lab, a variant of the flu;
the strain from 1918 that murdered millions too.
Why he was let to do this work, I cannot understand.
Sadly we can’t ask him as he died by his own hand.

It preyed on old and young alike, it slaughtered rich and poor.
The dead were left unburied, and the pestilence slaughtered more.
It was clear the Horsemen rode that night, we heard their banshee scream.
We decided if we were to die, that first we’d have Poteen.

Poteen is a potent brew, distilled three times by hand.
Its an old family recipe handed down by my old man.
As golden drops poured in each glass we raised a toast on high:
“We salute thee, Mighty Lord, we who are about to die.”

A Warmth of stupefaction went coursing through our veins.
When we finally sobered up, no pathogens remained.
Who knew my father’s recipe could put the plague to flight?
We saved as many as we could; no man went dry that night.

The Sun shone on a brave new world, the air was fresh and clean..
The rivers still flowed to the Seas and Eagles still took flight
The Politicians all had died; both the Left and Right.
We left the Cities far behind and lived upon the land,
And never was a jug of “dew” far from my right hand.

The day was dry and hot,
with not a breath of air.
His uniform was loosely fit,
The pinstripes, number 4.
Lou Gehrig was the “Iron Horse”
but an iron horse no more.

ALS had robbed him of his strength,
and now moved in for the ****.
Most thought, at first, he would not speak.
That he didn’t have the skill.
But all there remembered what he said
And I think I always will.

He considered himself “the Luckiest man”
Despite the” bad break” he got.
An immigrant’s son who hit it big
and shined in the spotlight.

Lou passed away within two years.
The Stadium, too, is gone.
We’re not the Country we were then
America has moved on.

But on this Independence Day
I’ll stand where Gehrig stood.
There used to be a ballpark here
and a hero kind and good.

The time has passed, too quickly,
since the years they served in war.
Some grow bald, others grey,
They are rounder than before.
Today’s objective is the restaurant
to beat the midday rush
When Retired Old Marines Eat Out
They usually meet for lunch.
At times like this, they reminisce
of D.I.’s they have known.
Speak the unused names of friends
who never made it home.
They give their time to charities;
Like Christmas toys for tots,
and package gifts for young Marines
who serve now they cannot.
They serve as honor guard for those
Who’ve reached the final post.
The few, the proud, who keep us free,
Have given more than most.
Perhaps not lean,
but still quire keen,
Semper Fi,
the Corps.

In the streets, broad and narrow, of Republican Rome,
when Cicero, togate, called the Forum his home,
there was sly innuendo and sarcastic wit.
Court was quite entertaining with those advocates.

In the Senate, gridlock was rampant those days
the Boni, content with conservative ways,
Would block legislation and seek to destroy
The populist leaders who held mobs enthralled.

The realm grew too large, the Republic too small,
And Civil War was declared and great Pompey did fall.
Then Caesar was slain and violence started anew
and the laws became silent as often they do.

Exhausted, at last, many principals slain,
Caesar Augustus the power reclaimed.
There still was a Senate in Empire Rome
But form is not substance, the Republic was gone.

Now Rome had an emperor to worship and fear.
Change happened quickly, the fruits of despair,
When the dust had all settled
a Monarch ruled there.

These two had parted once before
when he’d worked in Scotland’s mines.
Now he trekked to the antipodes
to live in southern climes.
He’d see the Emerald isle no more.
Would New Zealand be as fair?
He’d build a new life far from home,
Adventure waited there.
Yet, to never see his home again,
Or hear his mother’s voice.
To venture from the Troubled North
was his necessary choice.
Yet home will never look so fair
As when its left behind,
He’d live and die in a far off land
as part of God’s design.
“I never will forget you, Mum.”
as sorrow choked his throat.
One final hug and then he turned
to get upon the boat.
His ship made way down Belfast Lough
And he watched her from the rail
Til distance made her disappear
as if one  beyond the vale.

I lay down on my living room floor
Convinced that the world would end.
A crisis off Cuba with missiles  enroute.
Yes, I am a Child of Then.

A lady in pink with blood on her dress.
A President shot in the head.
I remember where I was exactly that day
for I am a Child of Then.

Police battle Blacks, Watts is in flames
Protests rage on without end.
King is dead at the hand of a bigoted man
Yes, I am a Child of Then.

Camelots heir sought to bind up the wounds
Then Sirhan Sirhan shot him dead.
Bobby bled out on the kitchen tiled floor
for I am a Child of Then.

Asian girl running, naked, on a dirt country road.
A Viet Cong man shot in the head.
Fifty Eight Thousand names on a wall
Yes, I am a Child of Then.

They monitor the internet.
They listen in on calls.
They spy on foreign Heads of State-
Believe me that takes *****
Their surveillance apparatus
Makes the KGB look LAX.
Omniscience is their stated aim
to “protect” us from attacks.
So put up with whole body scans
And show your papers please.
I believe the cure for terror
Will prove worse than the disease.