Poetry

---

AMERICA


America, the beautiful, the place I was born,
I'll cherish till the day I die.
Where the bones of past heroes
Lie buried in the ground,
Who loved her the same as I.

Her mountains are so tall
They reach for the sky;
With prairies where the green grasses grow.
There's billions of trees where wild birds nest,
With creatures that flourish below.

That blue gold called water
With which we are blessed,
As raindrops or crystallized snow;
Changes to rivers and fresh water lakes
While the winds of our seasons blow.

There's the haunt of a whistle
From a lonely freight train
Racing on ribbons of steel,
With the harvest of farms and from the factories
Balanced in a box on a wheel.

Some cities have buildings
A hundred stories tall,
Concrete, glass and steel.
A statue in a harbor, a present from France,
Describes how, inside, we feel.

That flag on the moon
With red and white stripes
Proves our dreams come true!
America has the freedom of choice
To strive for those things we must do!


Tom Zart
Author of
Love, War And More
Published by
Publish America

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE