GATE 37

A poem about a fallen soldier and his father

A man stands strumming his guitar,

At the gate 37.

Waiting for his son to come home, 

waving the flag long and high.

And his son comes marching by,

And the salutes go up as he pass by.

But this time there will be no jokes 

to tell, no stories to share.

in memory of all our fallen soldiers. may God be with their families. keep them strong and keep them whole.