Freedom: From Michigan to Haiti

Location

My feet fly light and the sun shines bright

On the day of lovely leaves.

Whispering amongst each other, many secrets shared.

Smoothly shifting between one conspirator and another,

Stirring whispers and susurrations from neighbors.

What do they talk of?

Of dainty things, of other trees, of lands far away?

Of the feet drumming by and runner flowing past?

Of my goal and mission, my start and end?

What would they discover, passing voice one to another?

 

--He says twelve today, the aspen quakes

Once again? Whispers the pine.

His mission is a lofty one, to run two thousand forty nine.

12 miles a day for the span of 9 moons,

His motivation must be great.

It’s the children, that’s what was caressed to me

This from the small maple, the one holding the vine.

Those ones far over our vast transparent elixir,

The land called Haiti.

Where children are not free to run,

Held back by hunger and neglect.

Schools lacking and limitations many,

Some parents lost and food scarce.

This all the more after the great earth quake.

“What” the Quaking Aspen asks

Gazing at the runner, distracted by his gate.

Not you Aspen, but why. Why he runs.

For their freedom, one dollar every mile;

For orphans and those in require.

For school, supplies, and that minds and eyes may see and help the ones in need.

This is why he runs, for their freedom from the pain, of hunger, loss, and disease.

Not for his but for their gain.

To simply see a smile and know that in a while they may be free.—

 

He listens and dreams of understanding the leaves.

And he travels on, almost out of view now,

Many more miles to go, with desire in his heart and motivation to finish this day.

He dreams of the Morning when all plans are made,

All trip needs are met, and materials stored with love;

In containers, packages all precious as gold, and even more so,

For one cannot eat gold, nor heal with it.

His strides echo over the country side, not in ears adjacent to his path,

But in the thoughts of those who have helped,

Giving one dollar for every mile until reaching two thousand forty nine.

Michigan to Haiti over the span of nine months until it is time.

                        In humility- Andrew Grossmann

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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