by: Donald A. MacCord

The day dawn like so many others and pulsed a nations heart.
The morning sun streamed o'er head and lit the silver spires.
A nation's people, with futures bright, were soon to weep with loss
No eye could see or comprehend what soon was to transpire.
And destiny in it's mindless way would into the maelstrom toss
A world gone mad with mindless hate that would burn like hell-bent fire.

A streak of silver, then two then four, driven forth with Satan's own,
on paths of havoc, anarchy their goal, with the reaper hand in hand.
A flash of fire, of smoke and heat, the minutes seemed to stop and stand
A nation watched in awe and quiet, and from their voices a grieving groan
As their sons and daughters in a cloud of dust paid the price for a nation Grand.

A nation stopped and turned their hearts to the heroes of NY, PA and DC
A flag rose up on a pile of rubble and gave hope to all who could see.
Never again will we ignore the signs with our heads hung in the sand
A day will dawn but not like any other when a new spire will stand so tall
And fill the spot where it's predecesor stood for all the world to see,
And proclaim to any who would harm our way, that they will surely fall.
For the loss was great and a price was paid so all could live and be free.

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