Babies are born and lovers lie;
We’ll make plans, when Freedom stands.
Do not let their stories die.
We teach the how, perhaps the why;
Teach to repeat, to ace exams;
Heart and truth would make them cry.
He stayed inside, in search of his brother.
The second plane hit, lens on his mother.
They put on their fire suits, knowing the worst.
They stormed the pilot; called home first.
Some got relief. Some got the wall.
Nine-thousand remains: nothing at all.
Heartbeats skip and minutes fly
like spy planes with capture plans.
And the dead cannot ask why.
It’s not the oil. Truly, we’ll try.
Allied lands, joining hands—
Empty space in our New York sky.
Babies are born and lovers cry;
We’ll make plans, when Freedom stands.
Do not let their stories lie.
Do not let their stories die.
Heather Grace Stewart 