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 mother's tears?
How many pilot's planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers graves?

No, Freedom is not 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 how many times that
taps had meant "AMEN"
When a flag had covered 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 the graveyard
at the bottom of the sea,
Of unmarked graves in Arlington,

NO FREEDOM IS NOT FREE.