The Flag Flies
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The flag flies for the ones who did not come home—
the young ones who went out and did not return,
who gave the last of everything they carried
so the flag would have a sky in which to burn.
I look at it and see them in the fabric,
every color paid for in a human price—
the white of peace that someone bought with courage,
the sacrifice beneath the clean and bright.
Fly well, old flag. You carry what was given.
We have not forgotten what the giving cost.
And we will raise you high above the morning
for every cause and every person lost.
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The flag flies for the ones who did not come home—
the young ones who went out and did not return,
who gave the last of everything they carried
so the flag would have a sky in which to burn.
I look at it and see them in the fabric,
every color paid for in a human price—
the white of peace that someone bought with courage,
the sacrifice beneath the clean and bright.
Fly well, old flag. You carry what was given.
We have not forgotten what the giving cost.
And we will raise you high above the morning
for every cause and every person lost.
