I know this thread wasn't just aimed at Americans, and I'm not trying to hijack it, or anything, but I just wanted to throw in this poem, called Old Glory, by Howard Schnauber, because for me, this expresses why the flag is more than just a piece of colored cloth, and what it means. I'm not what you would call the most die-hard patriot, but I've narrated some retirement ceremonies for Marines, in which a flag is presented to the retiree, among other things. When the flag is being presented, I've read this particular poem aloud with "Proud to be an American" playing in the background. It sends chills down my spine. Well, before I get on a sentimental rant let me get off my soapbox and get on with the post, here is the poem. I apologize if the spacing is incorrect. Copying and pasting doesn't always yield the desired results:
I am the flag of the United States of America.
My name is Old Glory.
I fly atop the world's tallest buildings.
I stand watch in America’s halls of justice.
I fly majestically over institutions of learning.
I stand guard with power in the world.
Look up and see me.
I stand for peace, honor, truth and justice.
I stand for freedom.
I am confident.
I am arrogant.
I am proud.
When I am flown with my fellow banners,
My head is a little higher,
My colors a little truer.
I bow to no one!
I am recognized all over the world.
I am worshipped - I am saluted.
I am loved - I am revered.
I am respected - and I am feared.
I have fought in every battle
of every war for more then 200 years.
I was flown at Valley Forge, Gettysburg, Shiloh and Appamatox.
I was there at San Juan Hill, the trenches of France,
in the Argonne Forest, Anzio, Rome and the beaches of Normandy.
Guam, Okinawa, Korea and KheSan, Saigon, Vietnam know me.
I was there.
I led my troops, I was dirty, battleworn and tired,
But my soldiers cheered me and I was proud.
I have been burned, torn and trampled on the
streets of countries I have helped set free.
It does not hurt for I am invincible.
I have been soiled upon, burned, torn and
trampled in the streets of my country.
And when it's done by those
Whom I've served in battle - it hurts.
But I shall overcome - for I am strong.
I have slipped the bonds of Earth and stood watch over the uncharted
frontiers of space from my vantage point on the moon.
I have borne silent witness to all of America's finest hours.
But my finest hours are yet to come.
When I am torn into strips and used as bandages
for my wounded comrades on the battlefield,
When I am flown at half-mast to honor my soldier,
Or when I lie in the trembling arms of a grieving parent
at the grave of their fallen son or daughter,
I am proud.
My name is Old Glory, long may I wave.
Dear God, long may I wave.