No, Freedom Isn't Free CDR Kelly Strong, USCG (Ret)
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 mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't 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 mothers 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 isn't free.
To all who have served and are serving, thank you. May we remember more often those who have sacrificed and are sacrificing, not only so we could become free, but so that we and others can stay free-not just the men and women who fight, but their loved ones and families, who wait and pray for them to return home safely, support them while they're away from home, and mourn them more than anyone when they are gone.
City of Heroes taught me that when the world is burning, you don't just stand by and watch, you grab a fire extinguisher and do whatever you can to stop it-even if it's not much at all. Sign the petition to keep City of Heroes alive HERE.
@MissKyo, Leader of the Teamsters coalition on Protector
CDR Kelly Strong, USCG (Ret)
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 mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't 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 mothers 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 isn't free.
To all who have served and are serving, thank you. May we remember more often those who have sacrificed and are sacrificing, not only so we could become free, but so that we and others can stay free-not just the men and women who fight, but their loved ones and families, who wait and pray for them to return home safely, support them while they're away from home, and mourn them more than anyone when they are gone.