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They handed her a flag,
folded up so neatly,
clasped in her hands,
with her old rosary.
The salutes exchanged,
they lowered it down,
a newly carved casket,
for the snow hardened ground.
Proud families may tell her,
of her great sacrifice,
but all she can think of,
is how very nice,
it would have been to see him,
come off that plane,
not carried by men,
all dressed the same,
but in his favorite shirt,
walking so tall,
towering over,
their children so small.
So she clings to the flag,
and her memories,
he has come home in his own way,
he will lay there in peace.
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When I get Home to You
There's a cool breeze
Sweeping through her hair.
You can hear the trees,
But all I can do is stare.
When
A Sand-filled Shack
She's standing just outside
on the verge right by the road.
Her eyes are large, she gazes up
at me, her new
The journey nears its end
Home lies just around the final bend
Familiar feelings flood your soul
Like a smile from an old friend
But
by Carol Natoli
"Coming Home":
When I used to drive up the turnpike
past the oil refineries
as I got deeper and deeper into traffic,
I used
They handed her a flag,
folded up so neatly,
clasped in her hands,
with her old rosary.
The salutes exchanged,
they
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Poetry: Coming home
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