pegasus
09-11-2013, 10:45 AM
The following 9-11 poem was written by Paul Spreadbury on September 14, 2001. Some have criticized Mr. Spreadbury for content, grammar or style. Yet the simple words were an attempt to explain to his young child what happened to those who lost their lives.
Two Thousand One, Nine Eleven
~ Paul Spreadbury, York Beach, ME, beesboy@earthlink.net
Two thousand one, nine eleven
Five thousand plus arrive in heaven.
As they pass through the gate,
Thousands more appear in wait
A tall bearded man with stovepipe hat
Steps forward saying, “Lets sit, lets chat.
They settle down in seats of clouds
A man named Martin shouts out proud
“I have a dream!” and once he did
The Newcomer says, “Your dream still lives.”
Groups of soldiers in blue and gray
Others in khaki, and green then say
“We’re from Bull Run, Yorktown, the Maine”
The Newcomer says, “You died not in vain.”
From a man on sticks one could hear
“The only thing we have to fear.”
The Newcomer said, “We know the rest,
trust us sir, we’ve passed that test.”
“Courage doesn’t hide in caves
You can’t bury freedom, in a grave,”
The Newcomers had heard this voice before
A distinct Yankees twang from Hyannisport shores
A silence fell within the mist
Somehow the Newcomer knew that this
Meant time had come for her to say
What was in the hearts of the five thousand plus that day
Back on Earth, we wrote reports,
Watched our children play in sports
Worked our gardens, sang our songs
Went to church and clipped coupons
We smiled, we laughed, we cried,
we fought Unlike you, great we’re not”
The tall man in the stovepipe hat Stood and said,
“Don’t talk like that!
Look at your country,
look and see You died for freedom, just like me”
Then, before them all appeared a scene
Of rubbled streets and twisted beams
Death, destruction, smoke and dust And people working just ‘cause they must
Hauling ash, lifting stones,
Knee deep in hell, but not alone
“Look! Blackman, Whiteman, Brownman, Yellowman
Side by side helping their fellow man!”
So said Martin, as he watched the scene
“Even from nightmares, can be born a dream.”
Down below three firemen raised
The colors high into ashen haze
The soldiers above had seen it before
On Iwo Jima back in ‘44
The man on sticks studied everything closely
Then shared his perceptions on what he saw mostly
“I see pain, I see tears,
I see sorrow - but I don’t see fear.”
“You left behind husbands and wives
Daughters and sons and so many lives
are suffering now because of this wrong
But look very closely. You’re not really gone.
All of those people, even those who’ve never met you
All of their lives, they’ll never forget you
Don’t you see what has happened? Don’t you see what you’ve done? You’ve brought them together, together as one.”
With that the man in the stovepipe hat said “Take my hand,”
and from there he led three thousand plus heroes,
Newcomers to heaven
On this day, two thousand one, nine eleven.
Two Thousand One, Nine Eleven
~ Paul Spreadbury, York Beach, ME, beesboy@earthlink.net
Two thousand one, nine eleven
Five thousand plus arrive in heaven.
As they pass through the gate,
Thousands more appear in wait
A tall bearded man with stovepipe hat
Steps forward saying, “Lets sit, lets chat.
They settle down in seats of clouds
A man named Martin shouts out proud
“I have a dream!” and once he did
The Newcomer says, “Your dream still lives.”
Groups of soldiers in blue and gray
Others in khaki, and green then say
“We’re from Bull Run, Yorktown, the Maine”
The Newcomer says, “You died not in vain.”
From a man on sticks one could hear
“The only thing we have to fear.”
The Newcomer said, “We know the rest,
trust us sir, we’ve passed that test.”
“Courage doesn’t hide in caves
You can’t bury freedom, in a grave,”
The Newcomers had heard this voice before
A distinct Yankees twang from Hyannisport shores
A silence fell within the mist
Somehow the Newcomer knew that this
Meant time had come for her to say
What was in the hearts of the five thousand plus that day
Back on Earth, we wrote reports,
Watched our children play in sports
Worked our gardens, sang our songs
Went to church and clipped coupons
We smiled, we laughed, we cried,
we fought Unlike you, great we’re not”
The tall man in the stovepipe hat Stood and said,
“Don’t talk like that!
Look at your country,
look and see You died for freedom, just like me”
Then, before them all appeared a scene
Of rubbled streets and twisted beams
Death, destruction, smoke and dust And people working just ‘cause they must
Hauling ash, lifting stones,
Knee deep in hell, but not alone
“Look! Blackman, Whiteman, Brownman, Yellowman
Side by side helping their fellow man!”
So said Martin, as he watched the scene
“Even from nightmares, can be born a dream.”
Down below three firemen raised
The colors high into ashen haze
The soldiers above had seen it before
On Iwo Jima back in ‘44
The man on sticks studied everything closely
Then shared his perceptions on what he saw mostly
“I see pain, I see tears,
I see sorrow - but I don’t see fear.”
“You left behind husbands and wives
Daughters and sons and so many lives
are suffering now because of this wrong
But look very closely. You’re not really gone.
All of those people, even those who’ve never met you
All of their lives, they’ll never forget you
Don’t you see what has happened? Don’t you see what you’ve done? You’ve brought them together, together as one.”
With that the man in the stovepipe hat said “Take my hand,”
and from there he led three thousand plus heroes,
Newcomers to heaven
On this day, two thousand one, nine eleven.