In All Their Glory
The Towers loomed above the boulevard
nearby a harbor huddled by the sea––
icons of power built along the quay.
There was no cause to post a bodyguard.
The sun was bright on shards of glass, unbarred—
a testament to country brave and free.
The people worked and breathed a silent plea
for U.S.A. They prayed with deep regard.
But evil roared—a beast from foreign lands—
its neck outspread, its nostrils blowing smoke,
releasing sounds like fire of crashing planes.
The windows reached with fragile, helping hands
to least-suspecting victims—gentle folk.
Their warm, red blood still covers tear-dried stains.
© 2013 Freeda Baker Nichols