A Circle of Flags

Circle Of Flags

By Milton E. McKinney ©

aka Breaktrack.

See the circle of flags around that grieving family there,

Who are all those people, and why do they so care?

Where do they come from, all those people holding every flag?

Why do they do it, though it makes this seem a bit less sad?

Why are they standing round us holding tight to flags so high?

They could be doing lots of other things to make their day go by.

Yet here they are so silent and so full of true respect,

I do not know them, one and all, yet still we do connect.

What do they think of as they stand tall waiting for the end?

Do they understand what kind of support they come to lend?

Can they know the sacrifice that's made to bring them here?

Do they have the faintest glimpse of this, our greatest fear?

Now we know that it's not just those who die on the battlefield,

Who make up those called casualties needing to be healed.

For those who wait and worry and will never reap reward

Can only weep when those we love are taken by the sword.

The circle of flags begins to form huge red white and blue arms

Around this little cemetery set out among the farms.

Embracing this small family standing round where the grave is dug

In a silent waving version of a patriotic hug.

Those standing in that circle of flags can't know what's in our hearts.

How they overflow at seeing respect coming from so many parts.

Our loss will never ever end; it just goes on and on

But that circle of flags will help us make it through another dawn.

So when this day is over and we've said our last goodbyes,

We look around to see the world with misty clouded eyes.

We will go on and live our lives to honor those we've lost.

And maybe join that circle of flags for others who have crossed.

Perhaps we'll join that trail of bikes roaring through the countryside,

To take another hero on that last long lonely ride.

To help pass on that honor and respect that has been shown,

And stand in circles tall and silent where many flags are flown.