by
Howard
Schnauber, Fort Collins, CO
©
1994 the author
I am the
flag
of the United States of America.
My name is
Old
Glory.
I fly atop
the
world's tallest buildings.
I stand
watch
in America's halls of justice.
I fly
majestically
over great institutes of learning.
I stand
guard
with the greatest military power in the world.
Look up!
And
see me!
I stand for
peace
- honor - truth and justice.
I stand for
freedom
I am
confident
- I am arrogant
I am proud.
When I am
flown
with my fellow banners
My head is
a
little higher
My colors a
little
truer.
I bow to no
one.
I am
recognized
all over the world.
I am
worshipped
- I am saluted - I am respected
I am
revered
- I am loved, and I am feared.
I have
fought
every battle of every war for more than 200 years:
Gettysburg,
Shilo,
Appomatox, San Juan Hill, the trenches of France, the Argonne Forest,
Anzio,
Rome, the beaches of Normandy, the deserts of Africa, the cane fields
of
the Philippines, the rice paddies and jungles of Guam, Okinawa, Japan,
Korea, Vietnam, Guadalcanal
New
Britain,
Peleliu, and many more islands.
And a score
of
places long forgotten by all but those who were with me.
I was there.
I led my
soldiers
- I followed them.
I watched
over
them.
They loved
me.
I was on a
small
hill in Iwo Jima.
I was
dirty,
battle-worn and tired, but my soldiers cheered me, and I was proud.
I have been
soiled,
burned, torn and trampled on the streets of countries I have helped set
free.
It does not
hurt,
for I am invincible.
I have been
soiled,
burned, torn and trampled on the streets of my country, and when it is
by those with whom I have served in battle - it hurts.
But I shall
overcome
- for I am strong.
I have
slipped
the bonds of Earth and stand watch over the uncharted new frontiers of
space
from my
vantage
point on the moon.
I have been
a
silent witness to all of America's finest hours.
But my
finest
hour comes when I am torn into strips to be used for bandages for my
wounded
comrades on the field of battle,
When I fly
at
half mast to honor my soldiers,
And when I
lie
in the trembling arms of a grieving mother at the graveside of her
fallen
son.
I am proud.
My name is
Old
Glory.
Dear God -
Long
may I wave.
Posted
here with permission from the author. Click
HERE
to find out more about the author.

|