TATTERED STARS
Her stripes
were worn and faded,
Her fabric
torn and frayed.
Tattered stars
hung loosely now,
Weakened by
old battles and decayed.
Still, she
hung with dignity,
Despite her
ragged state.
Her very
fabric promised hope,
Although the
hour was late.
Just then, as
dawn was breaking,
A rustling in
the trees,
A disturbance
in the morning mist
And a cool,
refreshing of breeze.
The flash of
nearby lightening,
Pulses
quickened by the thrill,
While meadows
shook with thunder
And a deluge
took the hill.
With that, Old
Glory caught the wind,
Unfurled, as
on the march.
Despite the
hail that tore her hems,
She took the
field and stretched out stiff as starch.
And those who
saw this marveled,
And recalled
old glory’s youth.
And hearts
swelled near to bursting,
Quickened by
old loyalties and truth.
And every soul
saluted,
While new hope
replaced old fears,
And each heart
pledged allegiance,
And sealed
their pledge with gratitude and tears.
SHANNON THOMAS
CASEBEER
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