The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green,
and though the flag will fly, his life’s unseen.

The husband, dad, and son who had been called,
who answered with a conscience proud and clean.
The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green.

Crossing battle lines, the chaos stalled.
He heard his baby cry across the sea,
the fatherless who honors land that’s free.
The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green,
and though the flag will fly, his life’s unseen...
to all but those who honor land that’s free.

Note:  A couple of summers ago, I had the opportunity to witness my local park’s transformation to host The Moving Wall exhibit which toured the US.  A half-size replica of the Vietnam Memorial Wall designed by Maya Lin, it was a somber sight. 

* Originally published in my poetry chapbook, One Thing Leads to Another.