I found this poem on the Forum by cool_and_the_gang
WHERE'S GEORGE?
After 271 years he still cannot tell a lie:
The old man is tired and more than content to travel across the nation the helped to found in somebody else's hip pocket.
Crossing the Delaware was more difficult last time, and tonight he will take quarter in a box hidden on the bank of the Potomac.
There, he will grind his wooden teeth as he presides with a stately gaze over the wild eyed Troll figurines, mocking thier wispy rainbow hair and gaping grins with his neatly cinched tail and paper thin smile.
Such is the life of the General, now.
Trusting in God as his day unfolds that his next home will be a comfortable one. That the next person will pass the buck, that the next wandering soul will care to ask: "Where's George ?"
I shared the poem with the Road Scholars at the Wrap Up Program on Thursday, August 9, 2010