Four arrows shot through a morning sky,
four arrows that pierced a nation's heart,
four arrows that begged the question, Why?
Four arrows that rended us apart.

Like fallen leaves they tumbled down,
New England leaves of gold and red.
We looked up, in city and town,
and gathered them in, so loved and dead.

We will remember this autumn year,
when buildings fell from the highest sky,
and planes fell through our deepest fears
on the sharpest edge of the question, Why?

From rubble and field, we'll gather them up,
and bury them deep with a broken heart,
we'll drink together from a common cup,
and weep for a world that's come apart.

For Jen Price, and all the loved and lost
Sept. 13, 2001

All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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