The Tattered Flag

Across the street, an old, worn flag,
Her business she still daily serves.
Day and night, her tattered ends yet wag
With less respect than she deserves.

I wonder what is her story
From her start to such condition.
At what posts she flew with glory,
Showing honor in her mission.

Where should a loyal servant go
After serving with her full measure?
What dignity should we bestow
To retire a well-worn treasure?