The Old Graveyard
Beneath the roots of tangled weeds,
Afar in country graveyards,
Lie the ones whose uncrowned heads
Have stamped this nation’s destiny.
Beneath those tottering slabs of stone,
Whose tribute moss and mold efface,
Sleeps the calm dust that made us great,
The true sub-stratum of our race.
Sara John English
Patriot Graves of 1776
