“I sat down and drank here, two hundred years ago,
the moon was young and silver, while fallen on the snow.
Green flames full with fire,
(freed from holy hearth)
lit my blue attire,
stained red by bloody earth.
This was the chair I sat in
during war with old King George.
Cold could get this cabin,
with no beer to gulp and gorge.
But these walls were strong and sturdy,
upon our Yankee ground.
Now what’s left is dirty,
and piles itself around.
The roof has crumbled into dust
long ages and ages ago…
the sun returned and brightly burned,
and smoked away the snow.
What has made my memory bust?
Freedom and liberty I do sing,
whether winter, or light of spring.
This is the place my dreams were born,
as my soul climbed up, and was moved by morn.
Mark these ruins not a grave,
but a cradle to an immortal cause.
Is a man’s living is all he will have?
While alive, does he deserve applause?
In being in our very own bones,
we walk far from graven stones.
Yet, within these windows,
I saw my best.
And it’s here my mind
has come to rest.”
About the poet: Michael Mauro DeBonis is a poet and a historian from Long Island, New York.