This poem speaks for itself.
© W. Scott Grant
After the Oklahoma City bombing on April 19, 1995
So it’s my fault, now, Mr. Clinton?
Hundreds die, horribly, the act of a few crazy men.
My family lives there, my heart goes out to them.
I praise and thank the Lord they are spared.
But you say to us, Mr. Clinton,
It wasn’t their fault ~ these crazy men
They were given marching orders
Limbaugh, Gingrich and Dole, on the radio.
Do I march in lock-step, follow blindly?
Or do I think freely, with my own mind?
You say it’s my fault, fermenting hate and dissension.
With the free exchange of words and ideas.
Our fore-fathers knew something you forget.
Ideas are the foundation of our country.
Yet you criticize open discussion, Mr. Clinton
Just because we don’t fall for your lies.
And now you tell me that I’m responsible.
My beliefs caused this horrible catastrophe.
What will you suggest next to us, Mr. Clinton?
That we repeal the First Amendment?