May they never make a statue of you,

So large, so stern, so pompous.

May your words of peace instead remain,

Through war, through grief, our compass.

 

I cannot envision your marble brow,

Running orange with aged decay.

Nor your stone raised fearless hand,

With a nest of dangling hay.

 

It would somehow seem more befitting,

To have your monument,

A collage of every tearful smile,

At the dawn of empowerment.