A poem to remember 9/11

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 The First Response

There was a beautiful sky, that September day.
I woke up hoping, it would always stay that way.

This was "Nine Eleven," Two Thousand One,
the day the terrorist atrocity was done.

They attacked our city that belonged to every race;
we didn't know how many planes, there were to face.

The "Trade Towers" were struck, the time to escape was clear;
yet "Heroes" charged up "those stairwells," despite the fear.

By "end of day" there was loss, we could not bear,
while "Ground Zero" smoldered, and poisoned the air.

Thousands of funerals took place, one by one.
Eulogies searched for reasons, but there were none.

This was the time the world ended as we knew it.
The news had us watch and repeatedly view it.

Our hope was restored by those who "First Responded."
By their brave sacrifice, we are all now bonded.

I was humbled by one Fireman, who searched the rubble.
He was helping families, in their final trouble.

Burned red on his face, his wife clutching his arm,
he still stood ready for the next, emergency alarm.

We went on with our lives as the site was fallowed,
because they watched over, this ground that was hallowed.

Alan Siris, East Setauket

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