Again that loathsome day has rolled around,
And you strap on your armband black as night.
You’ll march upon the stolen sacred ground.
(And you may do this for it is your right.)
No storm-troopers will put your crowd to flight,
For the invader was enlightened man.
And you may prod him but he will not fight,
And neither will he seek to crush or ban.
And did he make mistakes? Well all men can.
But also he did good — so what instead?
Invaders mad and cruel? You seek to fan
Extinguished fire — the actors are long dead.
Yet you are bitter — shackled to the past.
While most give thanks, your flag flies at half mast.
— D.N. O’Brien