This made the rounds by email several months back; Russ Vaughn sent me a copy and I posted it here on Small Town Veteran, way back before the Old War Dogs site existed. That's been nearly two years ago, it's still a beautiful poem, and posting it again gives me a way to draw attention to the fact Marsha has accepted my offer to set up a blog to collect all of her poetry in one place. I'm a long way from being able to announce that it's all done and ready for the public but watch this blog for an announcement as soon as I can get it ready.

The Folded Flag

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 the 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 just something I  have to do!

It's not just 9/11 Mom,
That stirred my warrior soul,
Not screaming taunts 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...waved her 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,
Mom, 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.

Marsha Burks Megehee
sarpoet@datastar.net

Contributed by Bill Faith on March 27, 2007 at 09:45 PM in Marsha Burks Megehee, Patriotism, Poetry | Permalink

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Posted by: Poetry

Troubling the Glass

At dawn a west wind troubles the still waters of an inland lake

Awakening the deep.

Splashes of light like silent shouts glare
across the water. They started in a straight forward
way to cross the lake in the gathering dark
but the wind rippled water broke up the
attack and smeared out the forces of light
into a undulating wedge.

Muddying the greens.

And always a mashed potato sky.

With some people it's the birds and the bees

but with you it's all buzzards and cane toads.

Posted by: Poetry | May 26, 2007 12:58:15 PM