The Eagle Still
feather fell to earth, stained with blood, and ash, and dust.
As a hero bent
to pick it up, he too, was felled and crushed.
Other heroes rushed to
take his place, and cast an eye towards the sky,
where nothing stood, no
eagle flew, and wept for thousands who might die.
In the city of the
eagle's nest, a second feather fell.
It too was stained with patriots' blood,
and scorched by fires of hell.
Yet a third time did a feather fall. Near
freedom's cradle this one lay.
It too, was stained with hero’s blood, that
valor washed away.
A nation mourned for thousands lost, and feared the
Would the wounded eagle soar no more? Were the hero’s toils too
Then from the ashes like a Phoenix, the eagle rose anew,
bloody hands unfurled her, and Old Glory once more flew!
Swept aloft by
prayer and patriots' blood, the eagle gained new height.
Saved from ashes by
a nation's love, and resolved to win a fight!
That eagle is America! Harm
him, you harm us all!
And though wounded, I assure you, that eagle will not
Fear the eagle, if you harm him! He will not flee or die!
proud My Country Tis of Thee, for the eagle surely