So many people lined along the street,
Sitting on the curbing, for an easy seat.
A parade was coming, for all to see,
A typical Holliday, it was too be.
Color Guard marching to the beat of the drum,
Carrying our flag, so proud and tall.
As I stood watching, all kept their seat,
But an old warrior, who rose too his feet.
He watched Old Glory, as it passed him by,
To the beat of the drum, and reaching the sky.
This old warrior, wobbly with age,
With hand over his heart, he began to cry.
©Copyright September 27, 2002 by Steve Brandenburg