Lisa I. Hilbers
Last night while setting out under the stars,
The moon was shining bright.
But it had a sadness about its glow,
For those eleven soldiers that fell from sight.
Thirteen went down, Eleven died,
Who’ll remember next year?
They say it like it’s a normal thing;
It’s their families that will shed the tears.
They are no different than the Columbia Seven,
A tragedy within the same.
But who will remember this time next year,
The date they died and their names?
There’ll be no memorial where they fell,
No candlelight vigil to praise.
Yes, the Flag will be flown at half staff,
And their wives will be left with children to raise.
A training mission, to ready for war,
An accident they said.
Another Black Hawk went down today,
But only in small print it will be read.
When this war is over,
Will there be a monument with their names etched in stone,
For their children to visit and weep,
Even after they are grown?
Lord, I ask when they reach those gates,
And their loved ones they again greet,
Tell them how much they will be missed,
And that their mission was complete.
©Copyright March 12, 2003 by Lisa I. Hilbers