At Lexington, proud farmers stood their ground.
An indentured servant left bloody footprints
Across the snows of winter in Valley Forge
Just to make sure we had a flag to fly.
A city lad fell on the deck of the Bon Homme Richard
While a mountaineer marksman fell at New Orleans
Providing the courage and the blood to assure
That our flag would continue to fly free.
So much blood and tears were shed at Antietam
Where a Maryland boy killed his Virginia cousin
Because he wore a different colored uniform.
Yet that made sure our flag survived to fly.
Uncle John charged up San Juan Hill
As they guaranteed that our flag could
Always fly high and free wherever it is,
But he carried malaria for the rest of his life.
On a windswept hill, a memorial stands
Containing the last remains of a lad—
His name unknown to anyone—
Fallen on Flanders’ field in the war to end all wars.
But in a maniac and a sneak morning attack,
Our youngest and fairest fell again,
Followed by the dead at Midway,
Guadalcanal, Omaha Beach, and Anzio.
Perhaps, now, our flag will fly free and in peace,
We thought. Then quickly followed Pork Chop Hill,
Inchon, the Hanoi Hilton and a sea green jungle hell.
What was our flag doing in these strange places?
Then, all too soon, came Grenada, Panama, Desert Storm.
When will our leaders hear the voices
From Yorktown to Veracruz to Gettysburg,
Inchon, Belleau Woods, Manila Bay and Fort McHenry?
The muffled drums roll on across the land.
Will our glorious flag ever fly in peace?
#FlagDay #Patriotism #Anti-WarPoetry
