The bugle plays it's song
As it does every day over the PA system
The children rise
And face the flag
Out of respect?
Who could know
When their true thoughts
Are locked away inside?
One little girl
Envisions painting a picture
With the hues of the banner
Near her a small boy
Stares into space,
Dreaming about a shiny new toy
Waiting for him at home
Across the room
Stands the teacher
Behind her desk
Facing the object
It is her obligation to face
She is very deep in thought,
Concerning her dinner that evening
In the back corner of the room
Stands a boy
Straight as an arrow
Saluting Old Glory
A single tear running down his cheek
He, like the others
Focuses on faraway things
Something not within his reach
Not now
Never again
Unlike the others,
He breaks his stare from the flag
Bows his head
And whispers
"Thank you, Daddy"