Mr. Douglass

When freedom’s finally ours, that liberty, that flame, A beauty both cruel and kind, no longer just a name, When it's as common as the air, as deep as the ground, When it’s in our bones and hearts, in the beats all around. He sees it as more than just a political wave, This man, Mr. Douglass, who once was a slave, He’s seen a world where no one's chased, Where love’s alive and none’s misplaced. This man with a vision, with spirit and a mind, Shall be remembered, not by statues, but in life's very design, Not by legends and poems cast in stone, But by the souls that thrive, by the dreams he’s sown.