At dawn's last light, as taps are played,
the colors are retired.
Thoughts of the sacrifices made
leave me feeling inspired.

I've heard it said "It's just a flag –
no more than cloth that's sewn"
as though it's just a colored rag
forgetting where it's flown.

It saw first light at Prospect Hill
during our nation's birth;
unfurling in the morning chill
over that hallowed earth.

It flew with pride, o'er those, alone,
who never fled the fight;
their valor for this country's shown
in Francis Scott Key's write.

And even in our saddest hour,
the union ripped apart,
it symbolized a higher power
and healed a nation's heart.

In dark days of the world at war,
under a foreign sky,
it epitomized the oath we swore
that freedom would not die.

The tower twins lay side by side,
felled by hate's cruel stroke
and yet our banner flew with pride
above the dust and smoke.

At dawn's last light, I hear taps blow,
the colors are retired.
The words I learned, long years ago,
come forth as if inspired:

"I pledge allegiance to the flag
of the United States of America,
and to the republic for which it stands,
one nation under God, indivisible,
with liberty and justice for all."

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