Mile markers indicate to all,
Just where you’ve been or gone.
They can be a reminder, too,
Of what did take so long.
From mount rushmore’s chiseled face,
To ellis island’s liberty grace.
Our land provides these treasures rare,
That hold our past, our deeds to share.
Niagara, its receding falls
And grand canyon’s echoed calls.
Who can dismiss the grandest zone –
Our D.C. Capital’s granite stone.
Each landmark has its history,
As we recall its worth.
It does us well to think of that,
The landmarks humble birth.
We are a landmark here, of sorts;
Our story does remain.
A work-in-progress, we are told.
Molded in our own terrain.
These markers of which we are made,
Of what life did provide,
Can make our lives a monument
If God is right inside.
Who else can make the stone a voice,
And alter life’s bad face.
This marker turns from stone to life,
Because of his embrace.