‎"The Flag My Grandpa Knew"

‎"The Flag My Grandpa Knew"

I remember how, each morning, he’d rise before us all

And I’d hear his muffled footsteps, as he padded down the hall

The many years he’d labored, had left his body bent and gray

But Grandpa had a reason, for getting up each day

A well-worn box sat on a shelf, beside his rocking chair

I don’t know where it came from, seems it always had been there

Inside, the box, a tattered cloth, of crimson, blue, and white

And he’d gaze at it each morning, with tears that dimmed his sight

On special days, he raised it still, on the pole outside our door

And he’d tell us kids, in reverent tones, what that tattered cloth stood for

The red reminds me of the Wheat field, where Pickett’s men were slain

When seven thousand good men fell, amidst the bloodied grain

The blue, I guess, brings back to mind, the loneliness and cold

Of a Shenandoah winter, a thousand miles from home

And the pure white stars, well they’re Generals, for Jackson, Stuart, and Bee

And that big one in the middle there, is for Robert Edward Lee!

Each bullet hole is a battle won, each tear is a comrade lost

Each stain is for a wounded friend, who paid the final cost

Ol’ Grandpa must have loved that flag, he stayed near it every day

And so Grandpa took it with him, when he finally passed away

And if there’s a flagpole up in heaven, there’s no tear in Grandpa’ eye

‘Cause I know he’s back in uniform, and his beloved flag flies high!

.... Ronnie Hatfield