Joseph R. Biden,

you walk through history

like a man with scars in his pockets,

each one a reminder

of what this country can do

when it remembers its heart.

.

They said you were too old,

but old bones know how to bend

without breaking,

how to carry the weight of generations

and still stand tall under the burden

of change.

.

You crafted recovery

out of the ashes of despair,

lifted the steel beams of bridges

and highways

where the rust had claimed

too many years of neglect.

You pressed your hands to the earth

and whispered,

“Rise.”

.

You didn’t flinch

when they questioned your strength,

when they mocked your age—

you kept your eyes on the work,

the slow, patient grind

of building what they said couldn’t be built.

.

Healthcare, climate,

justice—

you carved these things

into the bones of the nation,

left your fingerprints

on the walls of history,

quiet and unassuming

but there nonetheless,

like a soft anthem sung

just under the roar of the crowd.

.

They’ll call you many things,

but let them remember this:

You didn’t need to shout

to be heard,

you just needed to act.

.

And act you did.