He stands a little taller at a parade.
He knows the price that was paid.
There is a walk, hesitant with age.
To look at his face is to read a page.
His head is uncovered, and his eyes see.
His eyes are moist, the flag is the key.
Some know what he feels, deep inside.
There are memories of sweat, loss, and pride.
He thinks of people and places he knew.
He turns and walks, and is lost to the view.

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