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.