The old man stood there feebly
Beside the crowded street
As the Color Guard came marching proudly by.
Old Glory, she was waving
As he graciously saluted,
And tear drops started falling from his eyes.

His granddad fought in Italy,
His dad against the Germans,
And he was in Viet Nam as a boy,
Everywhere that they had battled
In fox hole or in valley,
They sacrificed their lives
For that Old Glory.

The old man stood there thinking
About how they fought for freedom,
Not only ours, but folks in other lands,
And how the legacy of valor
Flowed through the blood of family
And he prayed for his son in desert sands.

The parade had finally ended
And the Color Guard had passed him,
And he sat upon the grass in solemn thought.
The old man looked around him
At the people with their laughter,
And he was proud for all the battles
He had fought.