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The Flag
I’ve seen it torn and tattered,
Yet proudly it still waves.
I’ve seen it stained and spattered
With the blood of the precious brave.
I mostly see it flying high,
But sometimes it’s flying low,
In memory of those who died
Not so long ago.
I’ve seen it draped upon,
Someone who served us well.
I wish that I could sing its song,
And all its stories tell.
No matter if it’s old or new,
The majesty’s the same.
Its colors are red, white, and blue.
Old Glory is its name.
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