U.S.
    By Bob Hare

America, a steel-banded virgin queen
So glorious and green
Standing as it were between
Two worlds that wonder why
Hijackers like to fly
And wishing they could try
To get beyond themselves somehow
Into the grandeur of the now.
But the hindrance is not outside
And is three generations wide
By four dimensions each
In sacramental traps of speech.
The upright ritual
Must be socially habitual
For the past rests on the future's rock
Like a ship headed for a dock.
She is my country bride
One whole continent wide
And as we fly above the fumes
In our ornamental plumes
The upward sweet swinging songs
Of children singing and gongs ringing
Understands beginning.
There they are, heros everywhere
Going home in the smokey sunset.