I sit here in this pouring rain watching the parade go by
I think of all the people that for us had to die. I see an
old and weary face remembering different days, As he wipes
the rain; or is it a tear, his mind in a haze.


I hear the laughter of the kids as clowns go passing by.
But I can't tear my eyes away from the old man as he cries.
I sit there for a moment and wonder what to do, should I
leave him in his grief or his tears try and soothe.


He looks up about that time and catches me watching him,
He smiles at me, nods his head; pulls down the hat's brim.
I find myself walking over to where he sits. Not meaning
to intrude But having to have this fix.


I said to him in low tones, " What War were you in?"
He looked at me with eyes of pain; "doesn't matter now,
didn't matter then." I place my hand on his trembling
shoulder, as he tells me of men who died. I sit beside
him now and we take in the 4th Of July.


I know that Independence is something we all crave, but
sometimes instead of picnics we should remember ALL the
graves. The men who died to give us freedom To do what we
do. So on the 4th of July we can wear the Red, White and Blue.