On September 11, 2001, We were in Ashland, Oregon for the Shakespeare Festival.
I began to set out breakfast in our hotel kitchen for two grandchildren and myself. One of us turned on the TV to check the weather report.
The picture on the screen showed the smoking tower as it began to fall. We reeled in shock with fear, questions, and grief. Then I wrote the following poem:
Morning news: towers flame and fall in ash.
People panic. Flee in fear the wayward plane.
Why did that pilot fly? And plan to crash?
And did another do the same again?
Was this a terrorist who struck at us?
But who it is – we may not surely know.
TV news repeats, all the channels fuss,
And stressed-out newsmen help the rumors grow.
The turmoil in our hearts is great, facts few.
Four liners hi-jacked, loved ones wait and hope.
Families cling together when fear breaks through,
And lift their eyes for help with which to cope:
God’s gracious love will get us through this day.
With mourning tears we bend our knees and pray.