His Mother held the folded flag, it was a somber day.
A mosaic of tears and memories as she heard the bugler play
The last song for a soldier, as she held his folded flag,
And memories of the letter he wrote her from Ft. Bragg.
He wrote, “Please Mom, don't worry, I have to see this through.
Make your world a safer place. It's something I just had to do!
It's not just Nine-Eleven, Mom, that stirred my warrior soul.
Not screaming words of Jihad - a hero's words: 'Let's Roll!'
“Scenes of Dark September, Mom, as people fell like snow.
For me, it was the tattered flag raised high at Ground Zero.
Remember how I waved her Mom, when I was only ten?
I waved and waved her on The Fourth, and Veterans Day again!
“It was the words that grandpa said, 'She stands for all that's true.
Her red is for the blood men shed. Son, that's what soldiers do!
Guard her well and wave her high. Let no one treat her bad.
Honor the men who died for her, they gave her all they had.
“'A gift of home and family, golden memories as they grew old.
A fine young grandson…like I have. Son, Freedom's bought… not sold!'
So Mom, If I should pay the price to keep her waving high,
And you receive the folded flag - be proud of me… don't cry!
“Place my flag on grandpa's shelf with his medals from World War II
And the folded flag he got last year that grandma gave to you.”
His Mother held the folded flag. It was a somber day.
She placed it high on “grandpa's shelf”, then bowed her head to pray.