Flags In

A re-post from last year, but always appropriate…

Awakened Words

Each stone is cleaned to as white
as the passage of time allows.

Each flag is precisely placed,
a soldier’s boot the measurement.

Each fallen hero receives a salute
from one who understands.

Each Old Guard member considers
participation an honor, not a task.

Each year more tears irrigate
the fields of Arlington.

Each year more flags are needed
than the years before.

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Filed under Poetry

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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