This was sent to me my our oldest daughter, Cindy Henderson. It is a touching story that reminds me of another man who died for all of us a long time ago.

I saw a flag the other day, waving slowly in the wind.
Its colors faded from the sun, tattered edges torn and thin.
I wondered why it still was flown, be so easy to replace.
Why a new flag wasn't flying, with bright colors full of grace?

The flag pole it was flying from was in a home's front yard.
I saw a man there raking leaves, he was working very hard.
I stepped up to his picket fence, and said, "How do you do?"
He stopped and leaned upon his rake, "I'm fine Sir, how about you?"

"I saw you raking up the leaves, dead from the recent cold.
What really caught my eye though, was your flag up on the pole."
I’m not a stickler for most things, and I'll bet you think me strange.
But why is it you fly that flag, and to a newer one don't change?"

"It seems to me that there's a code that tells us what to do.
When a flag is worn out, tom or worse and its flying days are through."
I watched him sag a little bit, as my words went cross the yard.
I could see him searching for the words, but finding them was hard.

Just then it started raining, a sprinkle fell, or two.
The clouds were moving very fast; in a minute it'd pass through.
"Come sit with me if you've the time, and I'll answer what you've asked.
We'll share a glass of something cool, till this storm has finally passed."

Of course I couldn't beg my leave, after questioning him before.
So I walked up to his little porch, while he went through his front door.
He came back out with several beers, popped the top and offered one.
Just sat there sipping slowly, as his story was begun.

"I've flown that flag for seven years, come rain or bright sunshine.
It goes up in the morning, and it comes down about nine
Myday begins with flying it, and ends when it comes down.
The rest is just the time between, when I usually mope around." ­

"That flag is old and tattered, and the color's faded too.
But I wouldn't think of changing it, for something that is new.
Been a little over seven years that my son went off to war.
He was the apple of my eye; I knew that he'd go far!"

He had a college scholarship, full ride with frill and all.
He'd left us to go off to school, said each week he would call.

He'd only been away from home or a month or so at most.
When the planes attacked our country, shook this nation, coast to coast!
He called one night to tell us, he had joined up and would fight.
To stay in school and study, he believed just wasn't right."

The rain had stopped, the sky cleared up, but I didn't rise to go.
I listened to the tale he told, the ending I must know.
"My son had joined the Army, I was proud he felt the need.
To fight for us in freedom's name, ‘tis a Heroes' task indeed!"                        

"Was in the Army once myself, Spent some time in Pusan, too.
I never thought I'd make it home, 'fore that awful War was through!
I digress I am so sorry, sometimes I lose all track.
Of course that war was my fight, to my son's war I'll get back."

"My boy was sent to fight a war, in the deserts of lraq.
He left us as a soldier, as a Veteran came back.
He pulled two tours of duty, volunteered to stay and fight.
He told us that he sure believed that he was doing right!"

"Wounded by an lED, he never saw the blast.
Lost both legs and most his sight, it happened awful fast.
They shipped him back for treatment, and we thought he'd be okay.
Although he knew his life was changed, he kept his fears at bay!"

"We saw him in Bethesda, where they'd sent him to get well.
But something happened there one night, it was from his bed he fell.­
We didn't know how bad it was, till the doctors called us late
Come here and spend some time with him, he's not long for Heaven’s gate!"