Like a book not read,
Like a song not sung,
Like a prayer unsaid
Or an unknown tongue,
The American Dream, one of faith and trust,
Is growing old and gathering dust.
A yellowed page in a history book,
The stagnant pool, once a flowing brook.
Do we love our country,
Or merely reside in the land of our birth
With no feeling of pride?
In a famous museum, its cobwebs are seen –
Cobwebs of liberty, which once was our dream.
But, the ideals were buried when the heroes died,
And the candle of patriotism smolders inside,
Inside all our hearts where it flickers, then dies.
When will Americans open their eyes
To see, in a graveyard, a tombstone which reads:
“The American Dream”
…And it’s covered with weeds.
Nancy Sue Krenrich
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