He died...
by William Taylor
The man crumpled to the grass, his life's blood spilling to the ground
below. He thought of his wife, his children, his home.
He knew he never would see them again.
He died in a field in Lexington.
He died at Saratoga and Bunker Hill.
He died in the frozen hell of Valley Forge, and the sweltering heat of South Carolina.
He died of starvation, disease, and hypothermia.
He died from the musket, the cannon, the bayonet.
His resolve was firm and he died at Yorktown.
His death paid for the freedom to form our Constitutional Republic.
He died again at Gettysburg, and The Wilderness.
He died in the horrid trenches of World War I.
He died at Pearl Harbor, Tarawa, Omaha Beach, and Bastogne.
He died in Misery in the Chosin Reservoir, and the jungles of Vietnam.
He died in Panama, and the Persian Gulf.
He died to preserve our Republic!
Was his death in vain?
WILL HE HAVE TO DIE
AGAIN?
Liberty above all else!
--Bill the Patrick Henry Liberal
Other Patriotic Poetry
