We send our soldiers off to foreign land,
to fight for rights for those who are oppressed,
while other countries watch us make a stand
and call us names, and say we are "obsessed.”
So quick are they to burn us with this 'brand.'
Do they forget the freedoms we’ve addressed?
We each are born with basic human rights--
they’d rather judge, with vicious words indict.
I’ve read our “nose is where it don’t belong;”
we’re “tracking ghosts” that really don’t exist.
But who can say who’s right or who is wrong,
or if we’re chasing shadows in the mist?
They tell us we should “try to get along,”
while evil waits to strike with angry fist.
I'm glad our soldiers guard against the night
protecting me, and all who cannot fight.
© Copyright Ginny Brannan Memorial Day, May 2011
Ottava Rima is an 8 line poem, Rhyme scheme a-b-a-b-a-b-c-c, 10 to 11 syllables per line, usually iambic pentameter.