Mike Christian is an American.
I donít know where he was born,
But I know that when in our service,
He was a prisoner - wounded and worn.
Mike found a bit of color and
With a needle - all by hand,
Inside his shirt he constructed
Colors dear to his own land.
Every night, when guards were weary
And had gone somewhat away,
Mike would hang his shirt upon the wall -
All of the prisoners would say ...
"I pledge allegiance to the flag" ...
"One nation under God" ...
While their hearts enlarged within their breasts,
Longing for their own sod.
One day the guards came searching
And they found inside Mikeís shirt
The crudely constructed flag that served
To lift their spirits from the dirt.
Just outside the cell door,
Where everyone would hear,
The guards beat Mike Christian up
And took that shirt, so dear.
They threw Mike (broken, bleeding)
To the men, so they could see
The penalties, the pay-off,
For Pledging to Liberty.
The group gathered, all around him,
To clean and treat his wounds.
They only loved their land the more
And the flag, the symbol of truth!
There wasnít much that they could do.
Their spirits sank so low.
They had seen the enemy faces
As they took their flag to go.
But, Mike Christian found a needle
And through bleeding, swollen, eyes,
His buddies watched in wonder,
As he began another surprise!
He took a bit of red,
a bit of white, a bit of blue.
He made the stitches, with torn hands,
and all of his buddies knew
Mike Christian was an American -
Through and through and through!
I tip my hat and wipe a tear.
Iíd like for Mike to know
I fly Mike Christianís flag at home,
In the face of terrorist foes!
Red, white, and blue, we love you
(Fly high across our land)!
The spirit of allegiance place,
In the heart of every man!
The spirit of courage and loyalty,
The spirit of purity, too;
Mike Christianís flag! Fly high! Fly high!
Mike Christianís red, white, and blue!