The Eagle Still
by Ronnie Hatfield, 9/13/01
An eagle feather fell to earth, stained with blood, and ash, and dust.
As a hero bent to pick it up, he too, was felled and crushed.
Other heroes rushed to take his place, and cast an eye
towards the sky,
where nothing stood, no eagle flew, and wept for thousands who might
In the city of the eagle's nest, a second feather
It too was stained with patriots' blood, and scorched by fires of hell.
Yet a third time did a feather fall. Near freedom's
cradle this one lay.
It too, was stained with hero's blood, that valor washed away.
A nation mourned for thousands lost, and feared the
Would the wounded eagle soar no more? Were the hero's toils too late?
Then from the ashes like a Phoenix, the eagle rose
and bloody hands unfurled her, and Old Glory once more flew!
Swept aloft by prayer and patriots' blood, the eagle
gained new height.
Saved from ashes by a nation's love, and resolved to win a fight!
That eagle is America! Harm him, you harm us all!
And though wounded, I assure you, that eagle will not fall!
Fear the eagle, if you harm him! He will not flee or
Stand proud My Country Tis of Thee, for the eagle surely flies