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by Christopher H. Wilson
It stood a vigil,
At Its post.
It was there everyday.
It was there on this day.
It thought it was just another day.
It thought it was forgotten.
People pass and do not look at it.
Still it stands its watch.
Evil came to knock it from its post.
In a matter of minutes,
It was dashed and beaten.
This evil tried to burn it.
It stood the test,
And its colors ran true.
Put there by its founders,
With blood, sweat, and tears.
It has been tattered,
It has been shot at.
Evil has tried to tarnish it,
Over the years.
It has been there,
Ready to stand the test.
Time and again it has done its best.
It has been tattered but never torn.
This last test,
Came to the very heart of its post.
Through the smoke and fire,
It was there standing watch.
Giving guidance and hope.
It saw the devastation and the horror,
Heard the cries and anguish.
But like a shepherd
it was there to give comfort.
Saying " See, I am tattered not torn"
"So come citizens rally round me,"
"We will get through,"
"Tattered, Not Torn."
Contributed by Peggy
"My son penned the poem, Tattered, Not Torn on Wednesday at 10pm.
My son is a paraplegic due to an accidentally shooting when he was 16 yrs old.