Patriotic Poems
"I'm Proud of You, My Son"
He stands in the gathering twilight
holding a small flag,
stooping, straining to read the name once again,
on one gravestone among many.
"My son, I'm proud of you," he whispers.
He journeys back in his mind
to a little boy chasing butterflies,
to a teenager laughing, waving,
as he drives away with friends,
to a young man solemnly imploring,
"Dad, I've got to go fight for my country."
"Goodbye," he said, shaking hands,
this newly-minted soldier in uniform,
whose honor and integrity demands
he follow those who went before
to preserve the values and freedoms
that made America great.
"I'll come home soon," he said,
but he didn't.
Now his father's fingertips
trace his name on cold polished granite,
as he whispers
"I'm proud of you, my son."
By Joanna Fuchs
He stands in the gathering twilight
holding a small flag,
stooping, straining to read the name once again,
on one gravestone among many.
"My son, I'm proud of you," he whispers.
He journeys back in his mind
to a little boy chasing butterflies,
to a teenager laughing, waving,
as he drives away with friends,
to a young man solemnly imploring,
"Dad, I've got to go fight for my country."
"Goodbye," he said, shaking hands,
this newly-minted soldier in uniform,
whose honor and integrity demands
he follow those who went before
to preserve the values and freedoms
that made America great.
"I'll come home soon," he said,
but he didn't.
Now his father's fingertips
trace his name on cold polished granite,
as he whispers
"I'm proud of you, my son."
By Joanna Fuchs
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