The Jacket


The jacket hangs just there,
not a wrinkle nor
even a tear.
Navy worsted wool, the
finest to wear.
Upon the sleeve eight count them,
gold stripes ,
in total, proudly
march four, yes four years
At a time, yes,  one can
Say truly half a lifetime.

Above them I see chevrons
Three, the Eagle stands verily!
Upon a golden arch, he stands
Ready for the fray!
In silver doth
that
Symbol stand, for kith
and kin~our dear
                      Homeland.

Fealty to Freedom, this man
did profess, when he did
dress, to wear this coat
In Navy best. A Chief he was,
a man who lead ’twixt  rank
and file, and walked the walk
For many a mile.  Many followed,
In answer to Freedom’s calling
learned the ropes and  worked to
fulfill their hopes.

The jacket hangs because the
Man who wore it has gone
on
to Glory. I guess that could be
the end of the
story, but tis not
For this story lives on, the jacket
A reminder of
the Man, who
Packed a seabag for foreign lands
A farm boy tis true,
but he stayed constant
And
forever
true blue. 

By Robin Younes Aka Tango2Paris