I am the Flag
I am the flag of the United States of
America.
My name is Old Glory.
I fly atop the world's tallest buildings.
I stand watch in America's halls of justice.
I fly majestically over institutions of
learning.
I stand guard with power in the world.
Look up ... and see me.
I stand for peace, honor, truth and justice.
I stand for freedom.
I am confident.
I am arrogant.
I am proud.
When I am flown with my fellow banners,
my head is a little higher,
my colors a little truer.
I bow to no one!
I am recognized all over the world.
I am worshipped -- I am saluted.
I am loved -- I am revered.
I am respected -- and I am feared.
I have fought in every battle of every war
for more then 200 years.
I was at Valley Forge,
Gettysburg, Shiloh and Appomattox.
I was there at San Juan Hill,
in the trenches of France,
at Flanders Fields,
the Battle of the Bulge, and the beaches of
Normandy.
I was at Guam, Okinawa, Inchon & the Chosin
Reservoir.
Vietnam new me. I was at Khe Sanh &
Saigon.
As a resident of the Hanoi Hilton, I was
concealed in the soldiers consciousness.
From the Persian Gulf to the burning sands of Iraq.
Even to the mountain tops in Afghanistan I flew with pride.
I led my troops.
I was dirty, battle worn and tired,
but my soldiers cheered me
And I was proud.
I have been burned, torn and trampled
on the streets of countries I have helped
set free.
It does not hurt, for I am invincible.
I have been soiled upon, burned, torn
and trampled on the streets of my country.
And when it's by those whom I've served in
battle -- it hurts.
But I shall overcome -- for I am strong.
I have slipped the bonds of Earth
and stood watch over the uncharted frontiers
of space
from my vantage point on the moon.
I have borne silent witness
to all of America's finest hours.
But my finest hours are yet to come.
When I am torn into strips and used as
bandages
for my wounded comrades on the battlefield,
When I am flown at half-mast to honor my
soldier,
when I drape the coffin of the soldier who
gave the ultimate sacrifice,
Or when I lie in the trembling arms of a
grieving parent
at the grave of their fallen son or
daughter,
I am proud.
My name is 'Old Glory'!
