An old charter sat on its pedestal,
edges worn from years of hands
that claimed to honour it.

Lately, a few visitors
have begun lifting pieces from it;
small ones,
easy to pocket,
easy to pretend were never there.

The pedestal still stands.
The room still applauds.

But anyone looking closely
can see what’s missing,
and how quietly
a nation can celebrate
while it sheds the very things
it was built upon.