Perhaps it was his face
the WWII vet
riding shotgun in a new Ford Mustang
from the curb I and those around me
applauding each man and woman
from different wars and conflicts
but he did more than wave back
he smiled, shyly, genuine
thank you he softly said
to us he said thank you
Close to where I now live
is a cemetery where
once a year someone reads names
all those from our pleasant town
who served with honor
here the march always ends
and as the bands approach
quiet save the cadence of drums
the mayor checks his notes
and a soldier unpacks his bugle
When he was alive and healthy
my father would rise early
join fellows from the local Legion
place flags by granite stones
each man and woman would be remembered
but he did not want to join the parade
one day I asked why
and he said it just wasn't him
dad was proud to have served
but he saw no glory in war
I saw my father today
in the faces of many who passed by
eyes that knew
posture and chins that said
duty and honor
even the old dude ignoring the crowd
telling a story to his driver
these are just dads and moms I thought
dressed in faded uniforms
who made this day possible
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