Flags

It is strange that every nation has a flag,
Every square inch it’s nation.
Did each and every mind, home, city
Conceive with joy the wrapping, covering cloth
That we see now march slowly home
Bowed like wilted flowers at the drumming of the dead?
Or did vast swaths of us start,
Distracted from watching the stars
Flame and bloom in the whirling skies,
Dismayed by this Dream of Glory
That ricochets prattled off as we
Darted for cover and wondered who these flag men
Were, full of power and sight.