The Ride to History - Sonnet 25

Will one day I, like chariots of old,

Decay and lose the bolts that stand me up

To time and mystic fate? Not so corrupt

Are dead empires sleeping in the mold.

Will one day I be dusted and reserved

Inside a glass display and bear a plaque

Bolted upon my breast: “Here lies a lack

Of practicality partly preserved”?

Or will one day I still have means to fly

Down cobble streets on polished wagon wheels

And hoist the standard high, and on my heels

Will come the ranks of romantics to cry:

“To war! To war for all the good and dear;

Let favor die and virtue draw thee near!”?