The Patriot

Lining the street an anxious throng.
Dads moms and younger kids.
At last the parade!
Stars and stripes and marching bands.

Everyone's spirits high.
Happily cheering waving
at every grand display.
As in perfect step each passes by.

Almost without notice
an older gentleman stands.
Sparkling eyes behind spectacles.
Leaning on his cane he watches.

The stirring music coaxes forth
a shadow of a smile a soft sigh.
The sigh hinting of memories
long ago burried forgotten not.

As the color guard draws near
the elder one becomes
with obvious painfilled effort.
Ramrod straight.

The passing flag he and others
fought so gallantly for.
Brought without hesitation
a labored yet smart salute.

Imagination maybe but.
The moment Old Glory passed
as if in recognition fluttered.
Saluting one from times gone by.

Now parade and crowd have gone.
Alone the old warrior walks it seems.
Not alone for spirits of comrades
march silently forever at his side.

by Kurt Hearth

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