America, unveiled in frugal agendas

secreted in roots of regal cypress

terminal in nature, resounding.

There has died and been buried,

a man so little known,

his flock of fledglings, so rarely

returned, echoed youthful

calls and whistles across spirits

of tomorrow. Young men beating

chests of perpetual, salacious sentiments, heralding: patriotic, passionate, eternal,

pestilent, dogmatic, sick. Hopeless aptitude lost

in pits, in trenches, in arrogant proposal,

monuments of soils erected

in earnest, divided in expectation,

by a standard of worthiness.

Casting shadows like youthful sorrows upon barren grounds such are souls.

The ringing charges they powdered

in optimistic principle besiege

timeless yods of heroism

laid upon an altar for remembrance.

A Hymn of servitude now sung

there, for those crushed beneath

crops of civility. Lecherous fathers

battling the sick condition of men

harvested on Little Round Top,

down Devil’s Den,

in the Best Western

Quality Inn.

every bone in glory

rest there.