by Ron Spradlin

Some have cried and cursed
Those who burn the American Flag,
And would have condemned the culprit
To an impersonal body bag.

Is it really so important
As our wounded and dying Fathers say?
Well, I watched as my son
Burned it - just the other day.

Just a filthy piece of cloth,
Never to fly and wave in the air;
Without the sun and light,
With no respect and without care.

Yes, my son burned the flag,
Which he retrieved that day
From a garbage heap,
All torn, tattered and stained with clay.

With scissors, he trimmed the fray
And removed the clinging trash.
He smoothed the banner bright
And pulled together a gaping gash.

He folded Old Glory to a military tuck.
Then made of sticks a supporting tri-pod.
Now a flaming benediction,
For this ensign- One Nation Under God.

From the back porch I watched.
Smoke curled from that burning rag.
Folded to a perfect pack,
My son burning the American Flag.

He stood, respectfully saluting,
And adding character to his stately manner,
Grasping a harmonica in his left hand,
Softly played the "Star Spangled Banner".

I stood so very still,
Could speak nary a word.
A lump in my throat,
Emotions within me stirred.

He had properly learned
To dispose of a used-up flag , no doubt.
Yes, we are happy parents
Of an honorable Eagle Scout.

by Ronald L. Spradlin
To honor my son, Daniel K. Spradlin
for achieving his Eagle rank. 11/95

Ron Spradlin has been married to his wife, Pat, for 47 great years, in August 2008. He is the proud father of 3 great girls and 3 Eagle Scouts. And now is surrounded by 17 grandkids! He loves to write in his journal and poetry flows out of him as easily as his life stories. And may I add, that he is one of this worlds truly Great Dads! Shelly Duke Vilonia, Arkansas