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by Paul R. Lloyd
The planes did their horror-of-horrors show
We watched on television, listened on radio
The death toll unimaginable.
The children, who will care for the children?
The widows, the widowers, who cares for them?
Willows weep and always will
But we must stand up tall, heads unbowed
Not act like bent and mourning willows at all.
But oh, who mourns with the children?
Once three months are passed and several weeks
more
The children wonder what Christmas has in store?
No mommy, no daddy, but at least loved once more.
The Christ child comes and He reminds us
He knows the weeping of the children
He stands by them one and all.
Arms outstretched like
The Great Willow
Weeping with us all.
© 2001 Paul R. Lloyd. All rights reserved. |
