Colin F. Jones

SEPTEMBER 11, 2002

Two spectres; two invisible towers,
Two great grey translucent shadows,
Like Gods great arms filled with flowers,
Their souls, their hearts with fragrance gladdens
There forms a halo round New York City,
A binding circle made strong by love and hope,
That enduring courage lives in the eyes of pity,
Despite their mourning, they have learned to cope.
The memories now flood back and families weep,
Their thoughts go back but time it passes on,
For none can raise the dead from their sleep,
For like the sacred towers they are gone.
So they recall them in their thoughts and prayers,
And count them all here present every one.

Hear our cries Lord, hear our weeping,
Keep us safe in the shadows creeping,
Warm our sad hearts restore our blossoms,
Let loose their souls from their dark coffins,
Give them wings Lord let them fly,
Let them not whither when they die,
Make them blue and white and crimson,
Spanning time for loves great reason,
For they who built such wondrous towers,
Stand in the sunlight proud and brave
While in the shadows, evil cowers,
Denied a tranquil heavenly grave,
And we who sorrow find new purpose,
For life is love, and that they gave.