Scritch, scratch by faint candle light,
deep and long into the night –
a man sits down and begins to write –
a new country is born.
Scratch, splotch, by dim light’s glow,
the words, ideas, and the fanfare grows.
On a page are scrawled a nations notes
and an anthem’s scored.
Scritch, drip, by sun’s bright shine,
we feel the love from a dreamer’s rhyme,
recorded carefully line by line,
penned on a summer morn.
Scratch and scratch, by the warm hearth fire
a man is hunched, over words inspired,
which live and breathe thru the test of time
and Juliet we mourn.
Scritch, and scratch, while cannons rage,
in a modest room, words across a page,
a thoughtful man frees a race of slaves
and ends a violent war.
© L. Rose
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.