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Poem

I take my hat off for the flag
  I stand up straight; let others sag
I get all weepy for Old Glory
  thinking of my family's story

They came from Russia with naught but hope
  with just their wits to help them cope
No language skills or education either
  Money or living quarters, they had neither

But they scraped and scrimped, and just kept going
  Gramps peddled junk, grams did the sewing
And with the help of God, it all worked out
  Hard work and faith -- their kids did sprout

My father an attorney, my uncle a physician
  All due to gram and gramps' prescient intuition
To emigrate alone, part of no community
  to an unknown land of opportunity

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