Once more the time for me to send,
The poem I send, each year,
The memory, keep alive and defend,
Of Flight Ninety Three Hero's here:
By: Arley W. Steinhour 2002
[Modified slightly 090912 Tenth Anniversary Edition]
You wake up in the morning,
an ordinary Joe;
preparing for the routine,
of a young man on the go.
Shower, shave, and brush your teeth,
you pack your bag to leave;
kiss your wife and kids goodbye,
brush talcum from your sleeve.
The taxi ride is routine,
to where you'll go aloft;
as sun is lighting up the sky,
where clouds are white and soft.
You feel the plane lift off the ground,
preflight jitters fade;
Great wife, kids, and job you think,
'I really have it made.'
Minutes into flight time,
you get the dreaded news;
five hijackers, they be haters,
of our Christians and our Jews.
The message from the bad guys is,
"Be smart, against us not a hand";
You know that throughout history,
they'll just fly somewhere and land.
They'll rant and rave excessively,
ransom they'll demand;
call for release, from a jail,
members of their band.
Your nervousness is soon replaced
with total abject fear;
As flight crew and the pilot
are pushed roughly to the rear.
The pilot says that something's wrong,
the plane, hijacker now will fly;
and if he doesn't do it right,
then everyone will die.
The cell phone in your pocket,
handy and maybe works;
call your wife to tell her
plane hijacked by some jerks.
She tells you with a deep concern,
Twin Towers have been struck;
and then you know beyond a doubt,
you've all ran out of luck.
The plane is going Southeast,
D.C. is on that track;
the aircraft is a weapon;
You have to take it back.
The plane has over fifty souls,
D.C. has thousands more;
the choice is simply who must die
from this heinous act of war.
You tell your wife you love her,
but you have a job to do;
you're going to take the airplane back,
and subdue this crazy few.
You tell her that you may not live,
as something may go wrong;
these people don't want money,
they want to kill our freedom song.
The last words that your wife will hear
brands freedoms corporate soul;
the battle cry, no better made,
than what you said: "Let's Roll."
Spectator, you no longer be,
your heart hears the drum and fife;
something must be done, and quick,
to save more innocent life.
Into freedoms history,
and shirking not your charge;
Bad guys lose, good guys win,
the price is very large.
You brought us all together,
that very fateful day;
the standard raised for "Patriot,"
you few have set this way.
Rest well you friends of country,
God bless, and keep your souls;
patriots, can die, but once;
While cowards live in holes!
May what the passengers of Flt 93 did,
be the standard to be met,
as they did; the same standard stated by Jesus:
"No one shows greater love than when he lays down his life for his friends."
Flight 93 Hero's saved many 'Friends.'