I’ve seen it tattered in the rain,
tossed aside in burning bin,
planted atop a battered battle hill;
laid deep within the frigid moon
where man cannot miss-handle.
It’s changed in stripes and stars,
as long decades come and go.
Recently, it has emerged to honor
men and women: police, firefighters
and the hearts of brave soldiers.
I’ve seen it bellow in the breeze
across a cerulean blue sky, flapping
with the strength of eagle’s wings.
But the most intimate place I’ve seen
it, was laid atop my father’s casket.