Pitter patter, pitter pat,
The rain comes down on rail road tracks.
The people crowd and wait and cheer,
The train and all its passengers,
Coming near.

A little child,
Holds the hand,
Of an older, kinder,
Gentleman.

Her tiny feet dance,
In her brand new shoes,
She bounces in the puddles,
That reflect the grey of the sky,
Just to add to the unknown,
Bad news.

The train screeches to a stop,
And all its inhabitants climb off.
One in particular,
His shoes they shine,
In her young memory;
With a face very alike the one,
That belongs to the hand,
That holds her.

This man,
With his fresh pressed uniform,
Comes to a pause,
And kneels before the child,
In her hands he presses a flag,
Folded and tight.

She looks up from her shoes,
To see a face,
Unlike the one she expected,
And her heart races at an
Uneven pace.
She takes the flag,
And at it she stares,
Thinking of the man that should’ve come home,
But never will,
Never to see how much she has grown.