| I Heard a Poem Today |
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This gentleman recited a poem, today, in a school of long ago; Brought tears to my eyes. It was where my love used to go. There was a class reunion. This gentleman had the floor. He recites it every year. But, I always want to hear it once more. It's about a little town with an old tattered flag, Of which the people are very proud. Though, it's said they don't brag. It was about wars, where the flag proudly waved, Because it was their town and their flag they had it saved. A stranger made light of it, said it looked greatly tattered and torn. They told him, "That's ok. It's been through a lot. It should be worn. We hail our flag greatly, gent. If you lived here you would, too. It's the notion this is where it belongs, take it down we couldn't do. Maybe the stars aren't quite as bright or the stripes show up quite as bold, But we saw it before the war. After, too, when it had taken it's toll. So, please don't put down our flag, sir. I'm here to tell you it's very dear To all, who are from this little town, be it far or be it near. My old grandpa fought at Shiloh battle ground. He was wounded there. But, one day he hobbled home. God answered his loved ones' prayer. Many of his friends didn't come home. They, yet, lie there, still. Old grandpa said he missed them, but guessed it was Gods' will. He fought for this country's flag and all it stands for, even now. To men like my grandpa, they'd gladly place a hand over their heart or, maybe, bow. To the flag of America and the old rebel flag, they fought for and died, Giving the states their freedom and all the other soldiers their pride. So, why should we not brag a little, of these flags of which we're so proud? Not because any were wounded, died, or wrapped in a shroud ... But because they fought for their country, boldly, our flags held high for all to see; For this, our great country of America, land of the brave and home of the free." The gentleman, who quoted the poem, has gone on, now. There was an accident, which took his life, somehow. Though he will not be soon forgotten, every year when to this school we go, I pray he can look down; see the sadness of our great loss. Lord let him know. |
| © Pearlie Duncan Walker http://sitepalace.com/wildfern http://kavitanjali.com/poets2/wildfern.htm http://my.homewithgod.com/wildfern2.htm Pearlie Poetry 911 One Year Later |
| Other poems by Pearlie Duncan Walker A large collection of poems, submitted by Pearlie |
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