By Marie Ellen Pacha

I was young when my dad taught me how to say the pledge,
And I watched as he saluted the flag hanging from the ledge.

I listened as he taught me for all the things she stood.
He said that I must guard her. I told him that I would.

My country tis of thee.

When I grew a little older we got a little out of touch.
With all the things he taught me I sometimes forgot too much.

But I remembered still my promise that I would stand proud
and I would guard.
So I went to a war that wasn’t, and it was ugly…it was hard.

I watched the bodies of my comrades falling to the ground.
In the background of the insanity I can still hear the sound.

My country tis of thee,
sweet land of liberty.

I came home and started a little family of my own.
Fostered the seed my dad had sown in the son I saw full grown.

I taught him he should guard with pride this land in which we live.
And my brave young son went to war and gave all that he could give.

My son has done his duty, and as they lay him in the ground.
I salute the flag that covers him, and I can still hear the sound.

My country tis of thee
sweet land of liberty
of thee I sing.

And now, it is my grandson whose hand I hold in mine.
And try to teach the values that our fathers left behind.

We stand today saluting as Old Glory is blown by God’s own breeze,
and we remember all the soldiers lost that we might stand here free.

As we raise our hands to honor her, we can still hear the sound.
It echoes through the canyons, across the skies, and to the ground.

My country tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died!
Land of the Pilgrim’s pride!
From every mountain side
let freedom ring!

2004 Marie Pacha, revised June 26, 2006