I am only 12 years old but I recall the day
My mother handed me a box  no one could take away
I hold this little box and treasure all that is inside
I'm told it's things my daddy touched with pride

My daddy was a brave Marine, who served his country well
I listened when he was on leave, to stories he would tell
Sometimes a tear would glisten, and roll down his cheek
But my momma said my daddy wasn't weak

She said,
"Son, if it wasn't for your grandpa and brave men like him
We wouldn't have the freedom of this country that we're in
It won't be long, until you're strong, and you will be grown
Then you can help your grandpa carry on...

My daddy use to sit and tell me stories of his dad
"He went to war in Vietnam, Son, when I was a lad."
His life is all  inside this box, there is nothing here to hide
Is why I treasure all the souvenirs inside

One day the war was over, and soldiers came back home
My daddy waited anxiously, but Grandpa wasn't one
They said, he was an MIA, I still don't understand
They said he had to stay there, in that foreign land

Inside this box there is a letter marked, "To my son"
They say it is a letter, telling Grandma to teach his little one
He said to tell my daddy to defend  "Old Glory" still
In case he never made it home, and now, he never will

Inside this box of souvenirs....  a picture of a man
He's saluting that Grand flag,  and a bible's in his hand
There is a medal he was given, for his bravery
But here stands the grandson, that he'll never see

Daddy followed in his footsteps and honored his request
He was a proud young soldier, my daddy was the best
But now he too, has gone away, and I can look inside
This box of souvenirs, my daddy touched with pride
Poem By
© Jene Lindaman  aka ImAuthor4u@aol.com