It still makes me sad to remember 9/11: 

Morning of Good-Bye

 

We bathed in the tears gushing down our faces.

The ones that raged like a storm and rose to the same intensity

of vile villainy—that smoked and shattered

with terror and swept our sons and daughters

home early. Early

is usually good like waiting in the

dark for the first smoldering

wick of light called hope. 

Happy recollections,

 

 

of the early days,

 

 

ran off our lips

like maple syrup flows in fall.

Only a few sweet drops fell into the freshly-dug

charred soil of grand canyon. 

We huddled at the gravesides—family and friends who came early

to show our love and shave the bitter in half.  I am sorry, please forgive me,

but with the seed unplanted

in the very early fall

and the cavernous ground growing cold,

early came late

on that heinous September

morning of good-bye.