Before The Masses

With fickle zest we raise them Like a scythe before the wheat, And crown with prickly diadem, Ivy tossed before their feet. Give urns of tart libation, And pedestals of concrete. No matter what their station, Like lemmings or widow's mate, They pine for their rotation To be a part of history And burn with wanton glory;    For even those we strip of fame    Will be remembered just the same. Written October 9th, 2001 © on Oct 09 2001 11:09 AM PST, William Kenneth Keller   0 • 9