The sun shone bright, glistening
off the coal black marble stones.
Across the field, patriotic music 
rang out with disembodied voices 
singing along with the military band.
 
The grizzled man limped slowly
down the sidewalk as I watched.
He brushed off the hands offered
in assistance in the summer heat
until he reached a section of the wall.

He paused and eyed the list of names
carved deep into the wall of the fallen.
The flag whipped silently in the wind
as though recognizing the significance
of the solemn moment happening.

With his battered hat removed
he lifted his hand against the stone.
His crooked fingers rubbed a name.
The stone was cool in contrast to
the blistering heat baking the day.

He stood and straightened as much 
as his hunched-over body would permit.
With a trembling hand, he rendered
a stoic salute and wiped the tears falling
from his stubbled and haggard cheeks.

Without a word, he continued down
the sidewalk stepping around others
paying their respects to the fallen.
I moved to where he stood, reverently
tracing a name with tears in his eyes.

In the reflection of the black marble
I saw a young soldier in uniform.
A soldier in which the dream of serving
was born from the dedicated service and 
valor of men and women in Vietnam.