Genealogy is many things.....one of those is sharing. It's about
lives...those that have gone on,
and also those that are yet living. The death of those that have been
living puts them from one
side of the line to the other as far as how they are listed in our databases.
The death of those who died at Littleton, Colorado, puts them on the other
side of the line for
those who are connected but yet alive in their genealogy. A friend has
written the following poem
in response to the feelings he had in regards to the horrible tragedy. I
wanted to share it,
he's given his permission, and I hope you appreciate his talent as much as I...
Mari
Littleton, Colorado
April 25, 1999
Bright images swirl within my brain,
scenes that taunt and stir my mind.
Causing me for one more time,
to pen the words I must find.
Like balloons, bright silver and blue,
waving in one, last salute.
Like friends, speaking among themselves,
with voices low and mute.
Like silent tears on trembling hands,
falling from sad, red rimmed eyes.
Like flights of fifteen snow white doves,
soaring mid grey, rain-streaked skies.
Bright images swirl within my brain,
scenes that stir and taunt my dreams.
Dreams of dreadfully wasteful things,
deadly, and desperate schemes.
Like frozen sights of student Love,
impaled on hard, cold, steel wire.
Like mounds of tributes on the ground,
making a mighty, cathedral spire.
Like words of Love and tender care,
spoken low, with trembling voice.
Like family members, silent, waiting ,
grieving, unable to rejoice.
Bright images swirl within my brain,
golden angels on swift wing,
Bearing the souls of those we lost
to a land where they can sing.
Like screels from lonesome piper�s bands,
stirring the air in sad refrains.
Like dignitaries, from far and near,
on streets, silent, soaked with rains.
Like a lonesome, dark, cross of wood,
on a frozen, distant hill,
Like students with their heads bowed down,
remembering it, all still.
Like hundreds of bright teddy bears,
passing from hand to hand.
Like accolades so freely given,
to the one who made her stand.
Bright images swirl within my brain,
and I can finally say,
I hope to God we don�t repeat,
that mournful and tearful day.
Hugh Yorled
April 25, 1999