As he walks the faded street,
the very one he fought for,
his memory dwells in awe of the sight.
The flowers looked so wilted once,
the skies were bleeding black,
but the stars and the stripes,
they were flowing in the breeze through it all.
The flag was so beautiful,
withstanding bomb and bullet,
making glorious, all the soldiers who laid eyes upon its magnificence.
He slunk down on the tree stump,
lost in thought and amazement,
he remembered the photo, of his grandfather,
it was torn, and smudged with dirt,
but it was him.
He thought of the stories his grandpa used to tell him,
and how he fought for freedom as well.
He closed his eyes ever so slowly,
whispered "God bless the U.S.A.",
the very last words of his grandfather.
He lay there, at rest, at peace;
Finally, at peace.
He passed away at the very spot he had combat,
he held the very flag that was waving during that war.
He is a soldier.
He is an American.
He is FREEDOM.
Bronze trophy winner
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