I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,and then
He stood at ease.

I looked at him in uniform
So young,  so tall, so proud,
With hair cut square and eyes alert
He'd stand out in any crowd.

I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many Mother's tears ?

How many pilot's' planes shot down ?
How many died at sea ?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves ?
No, freedom is not free.

I heard the sound of taps one night ,
When everything was still.
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.

I wondered just how many times
That Taps had meant "Amen" ,
When a flag had draped a coffin
of a brother  or a friend.

I thought of all the children,
Of the Mother's and the Wives,
Of Fathers , Sons and Husbands
With interrupted lives.

I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No , freedom is not free.

Kelly   Strong

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The above poem was written in 1988 by an
Air Force Junior ROTC Cadet while attending
Senior  High  School  in   Homestead , Florida .

Reprinted from:

Section B Page 9 of the
GROESBECK TEXAS JOURNAL
( dated  July 3, 1997 )
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Courtesy L. W. "Brad" Bradbury H&MS-36, MAG-36 - 1966-67