Our Veterans pose in front of the Wall of Honor and Flagpole Display. (Turn around Ken Pope! )

Poem read by Miguel Fabbiani

Who is he?

By Sharlotte Hippler Hightower

He's fought upon the highest mountains, on thirsty deserts and unfastened plains.

Fought in dazzling feverish sunshine, in bitter snowfalls and in rains.

He's fought his way through overgrown bush, He's tread the sand on distant beaches Fought in dark infested swamps, alongside gators, snakes and leeches.

He's fought in frigid foxholes, when his feet were frozen numb.

He's been in the sweltering jungle heat, With only his memories, canteen, and gun.

He's fought in dark endless tunnels.

In fields painted with flowers and blood

He's been badly wounded in battle, yet continue to fight for what he loves.

He's fought with blind absolute fury, with gut wrenching fear.

He's knelt beside fallen comrades, unable to mask his tears.

He's fought with muskets and with swords, with his helmet and his fists.

Fought hand to hand many a time, against those his bullets may have missed.

Behind stone walls he has fought, from the trenches and from tanks.

He's paraded in grandiose court yards, as people offered both ridicule and thanks.

He's fought valiant and with honor, in each fight that he was in.

Asking only for respect and recognition, for wars they would not let him win.

His name is there on Bunker Hill, Etched on the Big Black Wall.

He is the American soldier, and He's still fighting for us all.