Old Glory Poem by John F. McCullagh

The soldiers are (sadly) well-rehearsed, their ritual precise.
The familiar simple tune of "Taps" plays out on a devise.
Orders are given and obeyed, the honor guard takes hold:
The Star spangled banner is reduced to a triangular fold.
The grieving widow, dressed in black, her young son at her side,
accepts this most unwanted gift -that never is denied.
She holds it close, all she has left, a symbol of her pride.
That flag will hold an honored place, forever, in her care,
In memory of one who went to war and is no longer here.