"Mr. Schnauber has given permission to the public to use this poem for program or publishing purposes. Please credit the Fort Collins Public Library Local History Archive, Oral History Interview of Mr. Howard Schnauber, the author."
I
am the flag of the United States of America.
My
name is Old Glory.
I
fly atop the world's tallest buildings.
I
stand watch in America's halls of justice.
I
fly majestically over great institutes of learning.
I
stand guard with the greatest military power in the world.
Look
up! And see me!
I
stand for peace - honor - truth and justice.
I
stand for freedom
I
am confident - I am arrogant
I
am proud.
When
I am flown with my fellow banners
My
head is a little higher
My
colors a little truer.
I
bow to no one.
I
am recognized all over the world.
I
am worshipped - I am saluted - I am respected
I
am revered - I am loved, and I am feared.
I
have fought every battle of every war for more than 200 years:
Gettysburg,
Shilo, Appomatox, San Juan Hill, the trenches of France,
the
Argonne Forest, Anzio, Rome, the beaches of Normandy,
the
deserts of Africa, the cane fields of the Philippines, the rice paddies
and jungles of Guam, Okinawa, Japan, Korea, Vietnam, Guadalcanal
New
Britain, Peleliu, and many more islands.
And
a score of places long forgotten by all but those who were with me.
I
was there.
I
led my soldiers - I followed them.
I
watched over them.
They
loved me.
I
was on a small hill in Iwo Jima.
I
was dirty, battle-worn and tired, but my soldiers cheered me,
and
I was proud.
I
have been soiled, burned, torn and trampled on the streets of
countries
I have helped set free.
It
does not hurt, for I am invincible.
I
have been soiled, burned, torn and trampled on the streets of
my
country, and when it is by those
with
whom I have served in battle - it hurts.
But
I shall overcome - for I am strong.
I
have slipped the bonds of Earth and stand watch over the
uncharted
new frontiers of space
from
my vantage point on the moon.
I
have been a silent witness to all of America's finest hours.
But
my finest hour comes when I am torn into strips to
be
used for bandages for my wounded comrades on the field of battle,
When
I fly at half mast to honor my soldiers,
And
when I lie in the trembling arms of a grieving
mother
at the graveside of her fallen son.
I
am proud.
My
name is Old Glory.
Dear
God - Long may I wave.
WØEKS
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