Tribute To Our Fallen
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Tribute To Our Fallen
What I am going to be posting is a poem which I have a signed and numbered copy. I do not have the information at my disposal to allow others to order if they desire, but I am working on it. This is a very touching poem and I can assure many of you may find yourself grabbing for a tissue. The first copy I obtained was given to an Army friend I was stationed with when I was in the Air Force and was to be given to a young man who died in Somilia by sniper fire if I remember right and I think his name was Lance Cpl. Anthony Botello. I offer this up as many of you may have family and friends who have either died or were lost in combat.
Last edited by Erzer; Jul 1, 2009 at 08:49 PM.
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Re: Tribute To Our Fallen
Read and respect
The air was so fresh and crisp up there. My only companions were the fluttering butterflies, the gliding birds, and the soaring eagles that circled gracefully above me. With each new breeze I stood straight and proud. My red and white stripes pointed to the horizon. My majestic blue field, once sprinkled with thirteen stars, shown brightly with stars now numbering fifty. As I looked down upon the people below, it was an honor to know that I was their symbol – the banner of their freedom and determination.
Then one day I felt the tug on my lanyard. I had an uneasy feeling as I drifted limply toward the ground. Halfway down the pole, I stopped for what seemed an eternity. Then I continued my descent, fluttering into waiting, white-gloved hands. With somber precision I was freed from the snaps that held me.
Soon, I found myself draped over a cold, gray-steel box. I was surrounded by men and women in full military parade dress, but somehow it didn’t feel like a parade. I think it was an honor to be chosen for that special duty, but it was hard to feel good as I looked at the grief-stricken face of a young woman veiled in black. Three confused young children stood beside her, the smallest inquiring, “Where’s Daddy?” If fabric and stitches could shed tears, I would have flooded the ground around me.
A kindly looking man, dressed in black, talked of things like the body sleeping in death and a great day of resurrection. I realized then that I would be the last blanket to cover this fallen soldier before that blanket of sod would guard and keep him until an angelic bugler would call assembly.
Suddenly, three volleys of shots shattered the silence. As taps played, with a more final tone than I had heard so many evenings before, white-gloved hands again picked me up. With compassion and respect, I was folded one last time and presented to the devastated widow. Words of honor, duty, and sympathy were spoken by an officer who choked back his own tears as he spoke. I had felt so sad and alone, when suddenly a flight of my eagle friends flew overhead. But they flew so fast and so loud, unlike the eagles I had known. As quickly as they had appeared, one of them broke off from the flight and veered out of sight.
Now I hang, still folded, in an oak case with a glass panel protecting me from dust and the elements. I don’t hang alone, though. On one side of me is a portrait of the man I had enshrouded. On the other side is a medal commemorating his devotion and gallantry.
How I long to again fly unfurled and free so far above the ground, but I know it can never be. I have found my permanent duty station, here in this tribute to a man who valiantly gave his life for the country and people he loved. My only prayer is that the sacrifice I made will mean that no other American flag will ever again have to leave its place flying proudly with the eagles.
Rev. Paul E. Goddard
July 28, 1991
Permanent Duty Station
The air was so fresh and crisp up there. My only companions were the fluttering butterflies, the gliding birds, and the soaring eagles that circled gracefully above me. With each new breeze I stood straight and proud. My red and white stripes pointed to the horizon. My majestic blue field, once sprinkled with thirteen stars, shown brightly with stars now numbering fifty. As I looked down upon the people below, it was an honor to know that I was their symbol – the banner of their freedom and determination.
Then one day I felt the tug on my lanyard. I had an uneasy feeling as I drifted limply toward the ground. Halfway down the pole, I stopped for what seemed an eternity. Then I continued my descent, fluttering into waiting, white-gloved hands. With somber precision I was freed from the snaps that held me.
Soon, I found myself draped over a cold, gray-steel box. I was surrounded by men and women in full military parade dress, but somehow it didn’t feel like a parade. I think it was an honor to be chosen for that special duty, but it was hard to feel good as I looked at the grief-stricken face of a young woman veiled in black. Three confused young children stood beside her, the smallest inquiring, “Where’s Daddy?” If fabric and stitches could shed tears, I would have flooded the ground around me.
A kindly looking man, dressed in black, talked of things like the body sleeping in death and a great day of resurrection. I realized then that I would be the last blanket to cover this fallen soldier before that blanket of sod would guard and keep him until an angelic bugler would call assembly.
Suddenly, three volleys of shots shattered the silence. As taps played, with a more final tone than I had heard so many evenings before, white-gloved hands again picked me up. With compassion and respect, I was folded one last time and presented to the devastated widow. Words of honor, duty, and sympathy were spoken by an officer who choked back his own tears as he spoke. I had felt so sad and alone, when suddenly a flight of my eagle friends flew overhead. But they flew so fast and so loud, unlike the eagles I had known. As quickly as they had appeared, one of them broke off from the flight and veered out of sight.
Now I hang, still folded, in an oak case with a glass panel protecting me from dust and the elements. I don’t hang alone, though. On one side of me is a portrait of the man I had enshrouded. On the other side is a medal commemorating his devotion and gallantry.
How I long to again fly unfurled and free so far above the ground, but I know it can never be. I have found my permanent duty station, here in this tribute to a man who valiantly gave his life for the country and people he loved. My only prayer is that the sacrifice I made will mean that no other American flag will ever again have to leave its place flying proudly with the eagles.
Rev. Paul E. Goddard
July 28, 1991
Last edited by Erzer; Jul 4, 2009 at 10:23 AM.
Re: Tribute To Our Fallen
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Re: Tribute To Our Fallen
On this day of celebration of our freedom I feel compelled to bump this post so all that have either missed it or need to be reminded, were it not for our service members back to the revolutionary days and those who gave the ultimate sacrifice, we would not be the country we are today. While it is a solemn poem, I'm sure many who have served and many that still do would want you all to celebrate; I only ask you to take a moment of your time to remember those that died to ensure your rights of freedom.
HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!
HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!
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From: Mn
Re: Tribute To Our Fallen
Originally Posted by Erzer
On this day of celebration of our freedom I feel compelled to bump this post so all that have either missed it or need to be reminded, were it not for our service members back to the revolutionary days and those who gave the ultimate sacrifice, we would not be the country we are today. While it is a solemn poem, I'm sure many who have served and many that still do would want you all to celebrate; I only ask you to take a moment of your time to remember those that died to ensure your rights of freedom.
HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!
HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!
A Double post for this one is fitting!
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From: St Louis MO
Re: Tribute To Our Fallen
Originally Posted by GDC-SRT
A Double post for this one is fitting!
If you don't, you are a rare lucky American. Count your blessings as well.
Freedom is never free!
franc
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Re: Tribute To Our Fallen
Ladies and Gentlemen,
It is yet that time again when we pay our respects to our friends, relatives, and fellow Soldiers, Airmen, Marines, Sailors and others who gave the ultimate sacrifice to protect the freedoms we all have come to expect each day we live as Americans. Once again, I offer this fitting yet tearful homage.
It is yet that time again when we pay our respects to our friends, relatives, and fellow Soldiers, Airmen, Marines, Sailors and others who gave the ultimate sacrifice to protect the freedoms we all have come to expect each day we live as Americans. Once again, I offer this fitting yet tearful homage.
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Re: Tribute To Our Fallen
Read and respect
The air was so fresh and crisp up there. My only companions were the fluttering butterflies, the gliding birds, and the soaring eagles that circled gracefully above me. With each new breeze I stood straight and proud. My red and white stripes pointed to the horizon. My majestic blue field, once sprinkled with thirteen stars, shown brightly with stars now numbering fifty. As I looked down upon the people below, it was an honor to know that I was their symbol – the banner of their freedom and determination.
Then one day I felt the tug on my lanyard. I had an uneasy feeling as I drifted limply toward the ground. Halfway down the pole, I stopped for what seemed an eternity. Then I continued my descent, fluttering into waiting, white-gloved hands. With somber precision I was freed from the snaps that held me.
Soon, I found myself draped over a cold, gray-steel box. I was surrounded by men and women in full military parade dress, but somehow it didn’t feel like a parade. I think it was an honor to be chosen for that special duty, but it was hard to feel good as I looked at the grief-stricken face of a young woman veiled in black. Three confused young children stood beside her, the smallest inquiring, “Where’s Daddy?” If fabric and stitches could shed tears, I would have flooded the ground around me.
A kindly looking man, dressed in black, talked of things like the body sleeping in death and a great day of resurrection. I realized then that I would be the last blanket to cover this fallen soldier before that blanket of sod would guard and keep him until an angelic bugler would call assembly.
Suddenly, three volleys of shots shattered the silence. As taps played, with a more final tone than I had heard so many evenings before, white-gloved hands again picked me up. With compassion and respect, I was folded one last time and presented to the devastated widow. Words of honor, duty, and sympathy were spoken by an officer who choked back his own tears as he spoke. I had felt so sad and alone, when suddenly a flight of my eagle friends flew overhead. But they flew so fast and so loud, unlike the eagles I had known. As quickly as they had appeared, one of them broke off from the flight and veered out of sight.
Now I hang, still folded, in an oak case with a glass panel protecting me from dust and the elements. I don’t hang alone, though. On one side of me is a portrait of the man I had enshrouded. On the other side is a medal commemorating his devotion and gallantry.
How I long to again fly unfurled and free so far above the ground, but I know it can never be. I have found my permanent duty station, here in this tribute to a man who valiantly gave his life for the country and people he loved. My only prayer is that the sacrifice I made will mean that no other American flag will ever again have to leave its place flying proudly with the eagles.
Rev. Paul E. Goddard
July 28, 1991
Permanent Duty Station
The air was so fresh and crisp up there. My only companions were the fluttering butterflies, the gliding birds, and the soaring eagles that circled gracefully above me. With each new breeze I stood straight and proud. My red and white stripes pointed to the horizon. My majestic blue field, once sprinkled with thirteen stars, shown brightly with stars now numbering fifty. As I looked down upon the people below, it was an honor to know that I was their symbol – the banner of their freedom and determination.
Then one day I felt the tug on my lanyard. I had an uneasy feeling as I drifted limply toward the ground. Halfway down the pole, I stopped for what seemed an eternity. Then I continued my descent, fluttering into waiting, white-gloved hands. With somber precision I was freed from the snaps that held me.
Soon, I found myself draped over a cold, gray-steel box. I was surrounded by men and women in full military parade dress, but somehow it didn’t feel like a parade. I think it was an honor to be chosen for that special duty, but it was hard to feel good as I looked at the grief-stricken face of a young woman veiled in black. Three confused young children stood beside her, the smallest inquiring, “Where’s Daddy?” If fabric and stitches could shed tears, I would have flooded the ground around me.
A kindly looking man, dressed in black, talked of things like the body sleeping in death and a great day of resurrection. I realized then that I would be the last blanket to cover this fallen soldier before that blanket of sod would guard and keep him until an angelic bugler would call assembly.
Suddenly, three volleys of shots shattered the silence. As taps played, with a more final tone than I had heard so many evenings before, white-gloved hands again picked me up. With compassion and respect, I was folded one last time and presented to the devastated widow. Words of honor, duty, and sympathy were spoken by an officer who choked back his own tears as he spoke. I had felt so sad and alone, when suddenly a flight of my eagle friends flew overhead. But they flew so fast and so loud, unlike the eagles I had known. As quickly as they had appeared, one of them broke off from the flight and veered out of sight.
Now I hang, still folded, in an oak case with a glass panel protecting me from dust and the elements. I don’t hang alone, though. On one side of me is a portrait of the man I had enshrouded. On the other side is a medal commemorating his devotion and gallantry.
How I long to again fly unfurled and free so far above the ground, but I know it can never be. I have found my permanent duty station, here in this tribute to a man who valiantly gave his life for the country and people he loved. My only prayer is that the sacrifice I made will mean that no other American flag will ever again have to leave its place flying proudly with the eagles.
Rev. Paul E. Goddard
July 28, 1991
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Re: Tribute To Our Fallen
Originally Posted by oledoc2u
I have the flag, the shell casings, and the tribute given that day....just above my head here in the den.....miss you Dad....
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From: Aurora , ILL
Re: Tribute To Our Fallen
From the third graders of Tussing Elementary, Colonial Heights, Virginia....
Thank You Soldiers - Veteran's Day/Memorial Day Song
Thank You Soldiers - Veteran's Day/Memorial Day Song
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From: Tennessee
Re: Tribute To Our Fallen
God bless ALL of our veterans past and present. Although I have not served in the military myself, I pay full respect to both of my grandfathers who served in WWII (one who was an ultimate patriot in the Pacific arena during WWII and the other who volunteered for the Navy during WWII) as well as my father who is an Vietnam Veteran who patriotically served as a helicopter mechanic at the Army base at Cu-Chi. I also pay respects to my grandfather-in-law who was a Marine during WWII (who passed away last July) and my father-in-law who served in the Air Force during the Vietnam War. Let us not forget those who have served our great country.
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Re: Tribute To Our Fallen
I think this intro about sums it up. Although I may be a little biased being a Marine Corps veteran myself...
R. Lee Ermey.com NOW DROP AND GIVE ME 25!
R. Lee Ermey.com NOW DROP AND GIVE ME 25!
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