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The Witness

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My life has always been rocky,
For I am a stone you see,
Yet the days are far from boring
Because I call home Washington D.C.

I have witnessed so much more,
Than any ordinary rock,
Since I am part of something majestic,
A structure called the Capitol.

I have always had a great view,
And if I could talk, oh the stories I could tell,
For every event in Washington,
Has been witnessed by this big pebble.

I was at Dr. King’s march,
With front row seats at every inauguration,
I have read the signs of countless protestors,
And sympathized with so many worthy causes.

I remember long ago,
When the Mall was all bare,
But it’s now covered with buildings,
Leaving few grassy squares.

I used to have a clear view,
As far as the eye could see,
But blocking my view,
Is the soaring Washington Monument.

And along the sides of the Mall,
Stand many museums—Smithsonian’s, they’re called,
One for air and space, another for grand sculptures,
Each seems to give birth to another.

Alas, in Washington D.C. so much has happened,
And yet nothing ever changes for this stone,
So, the only question I can ask is,
What will it look like tomorrow?





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