If truth, indeed, goes marching on,
I want to be its soldier,
who waves the flag as troops advance,
no color bearer bolder.

When troops for truth are mobilized,
my dream's to trumpet loudly
the song to which we strut and stride,
as we process so proudly.

There's only been one snag so far
in my impassioned scheming --
my dedication to the truth
has only been while dreaming.

When opportunities have come
to walk the walk envisioned,
why have my steps grown weak and small,
my words by fear imprisoned?