The United States is broken, its traditions and heritage scared away, its creativity stifled, its poetry now unread as the nectar of life, but as a history marred by the present, only ten to twenty years past, and cut off from the future.
There was a time when we would look at others, teachers to students, leaders to compatriots, historic men upon their children and heirs, and speak truth that reverberated for lifetimes, and now these words, what were the bedrock of society, the rhetoric of civility and strength, are now forgotten and humiliated and have faltered.
There was a time one could look upon a verse from a poem and draw from it a pride in the fortitude of he who wrote, yet now these men are gone, having failed, and the new ones not yet having come of age.
What will become of this scared and buttered people in the Americas? From the ashes and remains of the victorious past, will they rise? From the comfort and boyishness of luxuries and greeneries untouched by blood will they fight?
No, they will die, lest the learned come and remind them, that men did precede them who knew the taste of war, a hearty fight, and the poetry, the history, and the literature that encompassed the treasured grit and heroism of their hearts.
So do not die today, little boy, little man, but listen to me, a wandering knight within your lands who has beheld and known the same hearty sayings and literature you grew upon: turn to the books, not the ancient, nor the new, but those written by the Americans who fought to build the world as you know it today. And find within you and from the past that wooden strength from the trees that know, from the hearts of men that made you grow.