



It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Service man saluted it,
And then he stood at ease.



So young, so tall, so proud,
With hair cut square and eyes alert
He'd stand out in any crowd.



Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil
How many mothers' tears?



How many died at sea
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.



When everything was still,
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.



That Taps had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin.
Of a brother or a friend.



Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.



At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.
by
shall fill an honored grave,
for glory lights the soldier's tomb,
and beauty weeps the brave.
God Bless Our Soldiers Past and Present!
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