Price Of Freedom Poem by Wesley Mincin

Price of Freedom

Before a pass do few men stand,
against a plague that befell Greece.
With only bronze and blood the cost,
can there be sweet, everlasting peace.

On Scottish Hills, long ago,
men in rags stood firm in snow.
When echoes faded into time,
squaked, the voices, of the crows.

Upon the hills do cannons roar,
men fight and die to free the slaves.
Slaves oppressed for different color
Heroes buried in withered graves

On beaches, boldly, soldiers charge,
to raise the flag for all to see.
Light exists beneath the dark,
and still it shines for liberty.

On these fields is freedom bought
And on these fields our heroes rot