At Dawn
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They raised the flag at dawn, those first ones—
their hands still trembling with the newness of the thing,
the sky still holding its uncertain morning
while the anthem found its voice to sing.
What they bought with everything they offered
we have sometimes held too lightly and too light—
this flag that means a people chose its future,
this dawn they earned through the long difficult night.
We raise it still. In memory of the costing.
In gratitude for those who would not bend.
This flag that flies means something beyond fabric—
it means the choice that chose to not have end.
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They raised the flag at dawn, those first ones—
their hands still trembling with the newness of the thing,
the sky still holding its uncertain morning
while the anthem found its voice to sing.
What they bought with everything they offered
we have sometimes held too lightly and too light—
this flag that means a people chose its future,
this dawn they earned through the long difficult night.
We raise it still. In memory of the costing.
In gratitude for those who would not bend.
This flag that flies means something beyond fabric—
it means the choice that chose to not have end.
