The Flag Upon The Hill, Patriot Cowboy Poetry by Stephen Bly
There ain’t much left at RimRock,
just that flag upon the hill,
saggin’ boards of the old schoolhouse,
and Peterson’s feed mill.
Some gravel roads and old concrete
is what most people see.
I tell you there was a town there once,
just as purdy as it could be.
Ain’t many a patriot left old enough
to remember the RimRock story.
Write it down careful, boys and girls,
it’s a tale of friendship and glory.
Seven boys graduated from RimRock High,
in the Class of ’42.
The war was on, so they all signed up,
thought it the least that they could do.
And things went fine for the seven,
’til they met with that Army doc.
Young Peterson, he was rejected.
For Jessie, it was quite a shock.
Before they left for camp, he gathered them
on that hill behind the store.
And pledged the flag on the pine he would fly,
’til they all were together once more.
Chester Rutledge was killed at Normandy.
Fred Buchanan, the very next day.
Jim Nickels in a P.O.W. camp …
how he died, they never would say.
Ben Clarke was lost in the Coral Sea
when his ship sank out of sight.
Al Holt’s transport was torpedoed
before he got a chance to fight.
Sniper fire from a high palm tree
brought down Jimmy Ray Bates.
He died in a bed on a hospital ship,
just fourteen miles from the States.
Rimrock never recovered after that.
Seems ever’ family had lost a son.
They all moved away with grief and pain,
that is, all of them, except one.
Jessie’s climbed that hill for 57 years
to fly that flag in the sky.
And he says he’ll keep on doin’t it,
til he meets ’em in the sweet bye-in-bye.
There ain’t much left at RimRock,
jist that patriot flag upon the hill,
saggin’ boards of the old schoolhouse,
and Peterson’s feed mill.
Copyright©1998
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Stephen Bly Author’s note:
I am not a baby boomer. I was born during World War II, before my parents or anyone else knew the outcome. It was a step of faith to birth a family during such an uncertain time.
One of the delights for me was growing up listening to all the stories about “the War.” No other name was needed.
My respect and admiration for our service men and women continues to grow every year. And I can still remember the stories … accounts they didn’t volunteer because the hurts and losses were so deep. But they couldn’t hold all those stories in.
As a wide-eyed war baby, I got to listen to them all. Thanks Rudy, Bill, Wall, Punky, Ray, Pete, Chet, Don and Uncle Harry … those are the ones I personally knew who fought in WWII, the War. They didn’t lecture me about patriotism. They showed me what it looks like.
The Flag Upon the Hill patriot cowboy poetry is for those veterans still with us.
(photo above is author Stephen Bly as a boy)
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