Editor, Gazette-Journal:

Like the pills on our sweaters

The holes in our jeans

We’ve taken for granted

What ‘America’ means.

She’s been such a comfort

And lulled us to sleep

And so in our slumber

We made not a peep.

We dreamed of a shepherd

To show us the way

But our dreams were soon dashed

When he led us astray.

So rudely awakened

We’re now counting sheep

And search for a pasture

Where faith we can keep.

Now we toss and we turn

And just try to ‘get right,’

But don’t give up now

We’ve just begun to fight

The flock may seem small

And we’ve not one to spare

So turn out in November

And say us a prayer.

Elizabeth Michie Jordan

Port Haywod, Va.
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