From reader/commenter “FrnaksLies:”
Well, here’s another poem about our Great Leader, if you please.
(apologies to John Greenleaf Whittier and his famous ‘Barbara Frietchie’)
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Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of old Woodstock stand
Green-walled by the rills o’ McHenry County land.
Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple- and pear-tree fruited deep,
Fair as a garden of our Lord
-To the eyes of Franks’ ravening Section 8 horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When the last homeschool families fled o’er Boone Co.’s bayoneted ‘fire-wall.’
Over the Kishwaukee winding down,
Horse and foot, into Sagertown.*
Five hundred flags with huge Red Stars,
Five hundred flags with their blood-red bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years plus ten;
Bravest of all in Sagertown,
She took up the flag the MS-13 gang hauled down;
In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.
Up the street came the looters long dread,
Jack-o-napes Franks, himself, riding ahead.
Under his horned, slouched hat left and right
He glanced: Old Glory met his cat-eyed sight.
“Halt!”— his dusky, blood-caked ranks stood fast.
“Fire!”— out blazed the kalashnikovs’ blast.
It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.
Quick, as it fell, from its shattered pole,
Dame Barbara snatched her now Star-Spangled stole;
She leaned far out on her window-sill,
And shook it forth with a ‘Bunker Hill’ will.
“Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
But spare my country’s flag,” she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the visage of the Tyrant came;
The nobler nature within Franks stirred
To life at that woman’s brave deed and word:
“Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on!” he said.
All day long through Calhoun street
Sounded the tread of tramping feet:
All day long that free flag tost
Over the heads of the devilish host.
Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well;
And through the hill-gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Frietchie’s feat is now long o’er,
And Big Brother Franks rides his raids no more.
Honor to her! And let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Franks’ burnt-out bier.
Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave,
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!
Peace and Order and Beauty draw
Round thy symbol of Light and Law;
And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in re-renamed Woodstock town!
*Woodstock was renamed Sagertown (2020-2023) to gratify a wicked Commissar there in power, during the brutal reign of the Tax Tyrants’ Terror.