Flight 77

On the wide path from Dulles to the sun,

A plane took flight, its passengers at peace.

A journey toward a day already done,

A westward flight, a promise of release.

But in the air, a shadow came to stand,

And turned the steel bird on a twisted track.

It flew no more across the peaceful land,

But toward a building that would not fight back.

A final plunge, a fire, and a roar,

A wound was opened on a hallowed stone.

Another grief beyond the ocean's shore,

A different loss, a sorrow on its own.

And in the wall, a scar remains to show,

The place where Flight 77 fell below.