A FATHER'S DAY TRIBUTE
to the brave selfless fathers fighting for our country
My uncle's hand felt, well it just felt right in mine,
little fingers wrapped inside his leathery skin;
We were silent, both stick strait before the pine box,
my grief great, yet small compared to my next of kin.
Graves of his loved ones filled the fruited plains,
shadowed by a setting sun resting on purple mountains;
A flag above each marker, waving like amber grains,
red, white and blue refusing to run as cowards do often.
My dad's own ashes scattered alongside those of the brave,
gathered from stormy deserts, world wars, Korea and Nam;
I, to be one of many raised up in their blood soaked soil,
becoming like sons and daughters to our beloved Uncle Sam.
I look down at the six foot hole he dug by himself,
muddied by sweat and tears, for his brother so sad;
Looking straight into his eyes, though mine are cloudy,
I see the strong resemblance between him and my dad.