I saw a burial with a  bugler playing taps;
        I turned to my father, “what happened?” I asked.
He clutched my hand and with a quiver in his voice,
      he began to explain and his eyes became moist.
 
“My son,” he said, “this is rather difficult for me;
       for an old veteran like myself this is tough to see.
In that coffin lies a genuine patriotic warrior,
      an honest-to-God hero, an American soldier.
    
I appreciate that soldier and the service he gave,
       and I honor his sacrifice as he’s laid in his grave.
He was honorable, selfless, courageous, and bold;
       please remember him son, as you grow old.
 
The value of his service, I must explain,
       if not remembered, will be lost in vain.
As a nation we’re nothing without soldiers like him;
       and failing to remember would be a terrible sin.”
 
I listened in awe as my father spoke,
       it seemed as if his heart were broke.
I suddenly remembered when he went to war,
       and when he returned I thought nothing more.
 
I never asked why he walked with a limp,
       and I didn’t care about why he was sick.
I was to busy enjoying the life that I had,
       to realize that I had it because of dad.
 
I finally understood what my dad was about,
       and it hurt so bad I cried out loud.
He sacrificed so much so I could be free,
       and his battle scares were suffered for me.
 
It was my father’s spirit that spoke to me that day;
       thank God I finally understood what he had to say.
I saluted his coffin as they laid him to rest,
       and I thought about the medals pinned on his chest.
 
 That I didn’t honor him sooner, I will always regret;
       and I pledged that day to never again forget.
I’m proud that my dad was a patriotic warrior;
     I’m honored to be the son of an American soldier.