I see the noose
around old Robert E. Lee's
neck
as they pull him and his bronze
horse
down off the pedestal.
his sword is still
in his hand,
his hat secured.
his uniform tattered with
graffiti.
his eyes still focused on
some distant
field, bloodied and strewn
with corpses.
it seems he's lost the war
again
and will ride no more.
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