One June-born morn, he rose again,
From slumber deep, through fog and rain.
Top hat askew, stars slightly worn,
He blinked - confused, both proud and torn.

The billboards screamed in crimson red:
“Make America Great Again,” it said.
He frowned, recalling distant years,
Of sacrifice, of hopes, of tears.

He scrolled the screen with weathered hands:
Tax cuts, coal, divided lands.
Judges blocked, departments gutted,
Truth dismissed, the facts rebutted.

Through Pennsylvania Ave he walked,
Where once ideals so proudly talked.
Now memes and slogans filled the air,
And silence sat where thought was care.

He paused before the stately dome,
A house now less a nation's home.
Its walls, once white with moral grace,
Now cast in shadows, lost in pace.

He thought of Lincoln, stern and wise,
Of Roosevelt’s bold, forward eyes.
Of Kennedy’s young, soaring dream -
Now drowned beneath a restless stream.

He passed a school with broken glass,
Where knowledge used to bloom and pass.
Now DEI was scrubbed away,
As if truth feared the light of day.

But in the haze, a voice rang true...
A child with signs in red and blue:
“My America includes us all,”
A spark within the nation’s fall.

He smiled, and felt a gentle flame,
A whisper of the olden name.
Perhaps the dream’s not lost, but still
A spark remains, a trembling will.

For waking up is not the end,
But where the healing can begin.
And Uncle Sam, with heavy heart,
Knew now it’s time to play his part.