Our flag is a symbol, pure and bright, Of patriotism, honor, and courage's light. We remember the fallen, their sacrifice dear, Giving their lives so freedom stays clear.
To forget the past, we'd surely stray, In guiding the future, we find our way. So let us hold our banner high, For God and country, we'll never deny.
Painting by Spike O’Dell W4WGN Brentwood Tennessee
The fourth of July is my Favorite time of year
It draws us closer to our family so dear
Picnics Barbecues and all the fun things
With these traditions great joy, it brings
Fireworks Hamburgers Hotdogs and Apple Pie
All these are great Treasures in our eye
Our Country was founded on Faith in our GOD
Giving us great wisdom by which we are awed
Let us remember the Sacrifices of so many
So that we might have Freedom with Peace and Plenty
July 3, 2021
MarkWaldrop
Yesterday, as my Daddy’s farewell made its solemn way, Led by the United States Marine Corps in proud array, We saw a man by the roadside, pulled over and still, Hat in hand, heart covered, a silent act of will.
His simple gesture, so respectful and true, Touched our grieving hearts, brought tears anew. Amidst the hustle of cars just passing by, His honor stood tall under the open sky.
His license plate revealed his name, Ernest Boerlin, brave and grand, A veteran of the US Navy, in service he did stand. When we reached out to thank him, his words were sincere, A brother in arms, offering comfort so dear.
“It was an honor to show respect for a fellow serviceman,” he said, “Our prayers and condolences to you as you tread. Fair winds and following seas, may God bless your way, In this time of sorrow, I humbly pray.”
Ernest, your kindness did more than words can convey, In our hearts and memories, your gesture will stay. Thank you for your service, your honor so true, May God's blessings and love always be with you.
FRANCE – JUNE 01: World War II. Normandy landings. American reinforcements landing from barges at Utah-Beach (Manche) to deploy towards Cherbourg, June 1944. (Photo by Roger Viollet/Getty Images)
On Normandy's shores, where history was made, Brave souls in the dawn's first light arrayed. Eighty years have passed since that fateful day, Yet their courage and sacrifice never fade away.
Let us remember those who stormed the beach, Their valor and bravery beyond our reach. But also the medics and chaplains who cared, In the midst of chaos, they bravely dared.
With bandages, prayers, and comforting hands, They brought hope and healing to war-torn lands. Families of these heroes, in our hearts, you remain, Your loved ones' service was not in vain.
We ask for prayers, for strength and grace, For those who faced war's grim embrace. May their legacy of kindness and love, Shine down on us from the heavens above.
On this 80th year, we honor and pray, For the medics and chaplains of that historic day. Their selfless acts in the darkest of times, Echo through the ages, in our hearts, they chime.
There was a young man who returned from war, Called home to his mother, his voice raw and sore. "I'm back in the States, Mom, I'm finally here." Her heart leapt with joy, her eyes filled with cheer.
"I'm preparing a feast, all your favorites, dear." He said, "Mom, I'd like to bring a friend near." "Of course, son," she said, "That's wonderful news." But he had more to share, his tone somber, subdued.
"My friend lost his eye in the midst of the fight." "That's no problem, son," she answered, polite. "There's another thing, Mom, he lost his right leg." "That's a bit harder, but we'll make it," she said.
"One more thing, Mom, his right arm's gone too." She paused, then replied, "We'll manage for you." "But, Mom," he continued, "I promised he'd stay." Her voice grew uncertain, "Son, not in that way."
"We can't handle that, it's too much to bear, The costs and the strain, it wouldn't be fair." He replied softly, "I'll tell him, it's fine." The next day, the news left her heart in a bind.
Her son took his life, the burden too great, The friend he spoke of was his own broken state. He sought understanding, a place to belong, But faced with rejection, he couldn't stay strong.
Now she lives with the guilt, the echoing pain, Wishing she'd seen past his words to his strain. A lesson in love, in acceptance so true, For every soldier, and the battles they go through.
Freedom is never free, A truth through history we see. Each generation, brave and bold, Must fight anew for rights of old.
In fields and streets, on land and sea, Men and women strive to keep us free. With courage, they stand against the night, For liberty, they wage the fight.
Sacrifices made, the price they pay, To guard the freedoms we hold today. For every inch of ground reclaimed, For every victory proudly named.
We honor those who faced the foe, In their footsteps, we too must go. For freedom’s flame, they lit the way, A torch we carry, come what may.
Let us remember, never forget, The debt we owe, the vows we've met. For freedom's song, a legacy, Each generation's guarantee.
Good morning, echoes through the dawn's first light, A tale of valor, sorrow, and might. In nineteen-oh-seven, a boy was born, To a widow whose heart was torn.
His father, taken by a brother’s hand, Left a young widow in a desolate land. He grew up fast, a child no more, Dropped out in fifth grade to work, to toil, and bore.
Four brothers looked up to his guiding hand, In the logging woods, he made his stand. Married young, and children came, Seven in total, three angels to name.
In forty-four, when the world was ablaze, A month-old baby, he’d have to leave in a haze. From Harlan County to Normandy’s shore, This Kentucky boy faced the horrors of war.
Men fell like rain on that blood-soaked beach, One young soldier’s sanity just out of reach. “No need for a gun,” he cried out loud, As chaos raged and death's shadow shrouded.
Liberation brought tears to his weary eyes, Death camps unveiled humanity’s demise. In a foxhole, with a testament lost, He crawled through the night, in the cold and frost.
Hands bleeding, searching for hope, Found a Bible, bloodied, a way to cope. Twice wounded, he persevered, Shook Patton’s hand, a memory revered.
Post-war missions with Lt. Schaefer’s call, Hunting war criminals, he gave his all. Came home broken, inside and out, Shell shock, treatments, a mind full of doubt.
Twenty-five years, he battled unseen foes, A hero in shadows, the pain only grows. No bridges or highways bear his name, But his sacrifice remains, forever aflame.
A military family, devoted and true, To God and country, their hearts they imbue. When flags are trampled, in anger and pain, Remembering the fallen, tears fall like rain.
As taps play softly, a tribute to the brave, For your dad, your husband, the memories you save. In their honor, with pride, you stand tall, Heroes remembered, one and all.
Created by MarkWaldrop
Taken from a story on Facebook “Journey of a Mountain Woman”
