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

James Fletcher