The Torn Flag

At midnight in a flaming angry town

I saw my country's flag lying torn upon the ground.

I ran in and dodged among the crowd,

And scooped it up, and scampered out to safety.

And then I took this striped old piece of cloth

And tried my best to wash the garbage off.

But I found it had been used to wrapping lies.

It smelled and stank and attracted all the flies.

While I was feverishly at my task,

I heard a husky voice that seemed to ask:

"Do you think you could change me just a bit?

Betsy Ross did her best, but she made a few mistakes.

My blue is good, the color of the sky.

The stars are good for ideals, oh, so high.

Seven stripes of red are strong to meet all danger;

But those white stripes: they, they need some changing.

I need also some stripes of deep, rich brown,

And some of tan and black, then all around

A border of God's gracious green would look good there.

Maybe you should slant the stripes, then I'd not be so square."

I woke and said, "What a ridiculous story.

Don't let anybody say I suggested tampering with Old Glory."

But tonight it's near midnight, and in another flaming town

Once again I hear my country's flag lies torn upon the ground.