Category Archives: Poetry

Signal Mountain Lodge

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Signal Mountain Lodge

Signal Mountain Lodge, a very serene peace. If you are visiting the Grand Tetons you need to stop at this place and take in the views.

Have a great Thursday!!

I’m Not Growing Old

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They say that I am growing old.
I’ve heard them tell it times untold,
In language plain and bold–
But I’m NOT growing old.
This frail old shell in which I dwell
Is growing old, I know full well–
But I am not the shell.
What if my hair is turning grey?
Grey hairs are honorable, they say.
What if my eyesight’s growing dim?
I still can see to follow Him
Who sacrificed His life for me
Upon the Cross of Calvary.
What should I care if Time’s old plow
Has left its furrows on my brow?
Another house not made by hand,
Awaits me in the Glory Land.
What though I falter in my walk?
I still can tread the Narrow Way,
I still can watch and praise and pray.
My hearing may not be so keen
As in the past it may have been,
Still, I can hear my Saviour say
In whispers soft, “This is the way.”
The outward man–do what I can
To lengthen out his life’s short span–
Shall perish, and return to dust,
As everything in nature must.
The inward man, the Scriptures say,
Is growing stronger every day.
Then how can I be growing old
When safe within my Saviour’s fold?
Ere long my soul shall fly away,
And leave this tenement of clay.
“This robe of flesh I’ll drop, and rise
To seize the everlasting prize”–
I’ll meet you on the Streets of Gold,
And PROVE that I’m not growing old.
BY –Clyde Brigner

Freedom Is Not Free by Kelly Strong

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Freedom Is Not Free

I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
And then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
With hair cut square and eyes alert
He’d stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers’ tears?
How many pilots’ planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers’ graves?
No, freedom isn’t free.

I heard the sound of taps one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That taps had meant “Amen,”
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn’t free.

What Heroes Gave by Roger J. Robicheau

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What Heroes Gave

Each donned their uniform to be

Defenders of our liberty

Their mission sure, their spirits bright

Guard freedom’s home, be brave to fight

One final day each faced their call

Each gave their best enduring all

We’ll never know what they went through

But know they loved this country true

Deep down inside we should all feel

What heroes gave, their cost so real

We must stay thankful, grateful of

The gift of freedom through their love

Their loved ones bore the gravest pain

What we can’t know, some now sustain

To God I pray their pain will cease

And each will find long-lasting peace

Remember this from year to year

What heroes gave – shan’t disappear

We’ll never let their special day

Their time for honor slip away

These brave fought for a nation free

If not for them, where would we be?

by
©2001Roger J. Robicheau (Sp 5, US Army)
The Poetic Plumber