Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

Who was this person, cast in bronze, astride
A metal horse, with sword in hand and uniform?
He looms above me in the center of this quiet
City square, a plaque upon his pedestal informing
Me that he was Edward Dawson, and he lived
And died some eighty years before my time.
What did he do?  It seems he fought, but who,
The Indians, the Mexicans, the ones who hoped
To keep their slaves, or those who sought to win
Them freedom?  There's no way for me to know.
At some point, someone felt that Edward Dawson
Ought to be remembered, so they placed his image
Here, but those who pass seem not to see him.
No one else looks at his plaque.  The statue is.
The man it represents has disappeared.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 38 times
Written on 2022-08-03 at 17:34

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I like this. Kind of like a micro ozymandias. Love it.

Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
A poem that will be empathised with in many towns and cities around the world. You have expressed the thoughts and opinions of many people over the question of statues. Another spot on observation. Bravo, Lawrence.