From this uneasy grave across the waters,
One of the many thousands blown to shreds,
I speak to all you other sons and daughters
Who, to a better dawn than I, can turn your heads.
Think of me sometimes in your quiet mornings,
Watching the magic of your living sky;
Live joyfully – but listen to my warnings
Of those who’d put you, too, where I now lie.
Watch for the talk of power, the xenophobic,
The cult of war, ‘my country right or wrong’;
The mantle of the brave and patriotic,
Worn for a vote by cynics far too long.
Be vigilant – for that is what I died for –
That you should live your lives where you belong.
( from ‘ The Making of a President’ )