As he slept, the road marched stiffly
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down the lane of his returning.
White-gloved hands saluted swiftly,
honor guards embraced this gift he
left from noble passion's burning.
Sorrows' fallow fields long yearning
savor youth's choice sacrifices.
Tilled in red soil's anguished churning,
Harvests yield this prize worth earning:
freedom. God's gift slowly rises.