Poetry Book

This Home Of Ours

A sunny clear day,
A beautiful September morn,
Shrouded by billowing clouds of black smoke.
The World Trade Center.
A gleaming beacon of hope,
Gone.
They are America.
This was their home.

People running along the streets
Wondering if it would end.
A way of life attacked, people gone, missing.
They are America
This is their home.

Americans standing in solidarity,
Chanting patriotic words of
'Never forget,' 'Never forget.'
We are America.
This is our home, and we love it.

On a Tuesday, three weeks before,
August 14th, 2001 at 8:09 at night,
Thousands of miles from New York,
A baby girl was born
Unaware of what would happen
28 days later...
I am America.
This is my home.

As the years passed,
This young girl,
A new generation for the nation,
Grew to understand of
The horrors and terrors
Of a changing world around her.
I am America.
This is where I live, this is my home.

In the days that followed the attacks,
Her mother always wondered:
'I brought my daughter into this world?'
She is America
This is her home.

As the days and hours went by,
Workers searched and dug,
Hoping for some cry for help,
A plea to be found.
They are America.
And this was their home.

The soldiers we sent
To fight for what is right
To protect us in times of need
Far from home
Because they are America.
But America is their home,
No matter where they are.

By May 2002,
The last piece of steel was removed
We overcame this destruction
We overcame the heartache
This is our home.
We are America.

It's been 17 years and
What once was an oblivious nation,
Now better than what she was before.
One thing is evident about this country,
She never surrendered
America is a strong and resilient nation
America is free
America is our home,
Because we are America.
And this is our home.

Dedicated to the 3,000 people who lost their lives on Tuesday, September 11th, 2001.