When you see them,
Marching in parade,
On a hot July day,
As you sip your lemonade


When you see them,
On a cool November day,
Silently marching,
Colored leaves along their way


What is it that you see?
Pot bellies, gray hair?
Some halt, some lame,
Some in wheel chairs?


What you can’t see,
Is what they saw.
Or what they did.
You can’t view their memories.


Remember those they left behind
In reveries of jobs well done
Of friends who gave their all, in kind,
Of those forever young


They’ll see the flag.
Suck bellies in and stand a little straighter.
Remembering those faces,
And know what is the greater.


You’ll see them in parade.
But not know them on the street.
In a school or in a bar,
They’re just like you and me.


These people, these vets
They don’t ask for much.
For all they gave and all you have,
Just doing their duty and such


So when you see them,
And know it to be true.
A simple “Thanks” is all it takes,
For the freedom that is you.




~ © Pete Bolte (pbolte@msn.com)


 



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