As the sun rises, so do I,
to prepare to do what I have traveled so far to do.
What I love to do… but at the sametime hateing it.
To enter those hallowed grounds in search of you my son.
Walking alone among the pathways worn brown from those other mother before me.
I search for that small black section marker that means…..
I'm getting closer………… and closer…………………..
as I turn……………………..
and walk to the hill where I've been before.
All around me, on all sides,
as far as I can see is the sameness,
the quiet beauty of hillside graves
marked with stones of granet:
Flags…….unending flags waving in the morning breeze.
On I walk, hurring to this place of pain and pride where I'm compelled to go.
Following this path to the end of your life…
my life too son, at least in my heart.
For when you died, so did I.
The tears begin to run down my face as I'm there….
standing there looking at your name….
I touch it and run my fingers across it.
I'm with you again if only for a short while.
Then without thinking I sit down with you….
Thru my tears I pick a clover off your grave and save it.
The red rose I've carried I place on the green grass around the stone that claims you as mine.
People come and go all around me, but I'm undisturbed.
I belong here……..with you !
Written in loving memory of Sergeant Franklin Dennis Winters by his mother.
May we never forget the sacrifices made by our military forces, whether in be in war or in peace.
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Michael Robert Patterson was born in Arlington and is the son of a former officer of the US Army. So it was no wonder that sooner or later his interests drew him to American history and especially to American military history. Many of his articles can be found on renowned portals like the New York Times, Washingtonpost or Wikipedia.
Reviewed by: Michael Howard