You Won’t Hear Me Weep
I was born in the spring,
In the land called Northwest.
It was a beautiful thing
And I was the best.
Miles of cable,
Yards of skin.
As soon as I was able,
My life would begin.
In all forms of weather,
I held true to the course.
I brought people together,
Their need was my source.
But one autumn morning
some men with a knife,
without any warning
took control of my life.
My choices were few,
I was created to obey
What could I do,
But prolong this day.
We called out to friends
And loved ones below
We could not pretend
That we didn’t know.
I lie now in a heap,
Forgotten amidst the trouble
You won’t hear me weep
Beneath all the rubble.
The dark clouds now,
Shade my children in heaven
I was so very proud
To be a 757.
©James Fletcher
September 12, 2001
