Freedom is thirteen stripes and fifty stars,
A uniform decorated with ribbons and bars.
An Iowa farm with its fields of corn,
Church bells ringing on a Sunday morn.
Freedom is overhead missiles, a battle group at sea,
For the price of freedom has never been free.
It’s marines and soldiers hunkered in a foxhole,
A nation banded together in a common goal.
Freedom is living and working side by side,
To dare to hope and opportunities tried.
People coming to the aid of a stranger,
Putting their own lives in the path of danger.
Freedom is apple pie and the girl next door,
A small town with a mom and pop store.
It’s baseball, reunions, the Fourth of July,
A lump in our throats as the flag passes by.
Freedom is the compassion we have for our own,
Standing shoulder to shoulder when disaster hits home.
Our symbol’s the eagle, so let Freedom soar,
Its principles and standards Americans died for.
~by Barbara Cox~