By
Charlotte Dean
The Fourth
of July 1946
Fifty
years ago---we gathered at the monument—
In
the blazing heat of a sultry, humid July afternoon.
We
had come to the battlefield, where the heroes had fallen,
To
honor the memory of those who went before us.
The
air was so thick that even the mosquitoes forgot to fly—
And
I saw my grandmother wipe away a silent, single tear
As
she laid a single red rose at the base of the marker.
