Remembering 9/11

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Emma Lazarus, 1883

America truly is a special place, warts and all. Never in the history of the world have so downtrodden been given a chance at a new life. At freedom. Her journey to an even better place is never ending. It is our cumulative responsibility to keep the world's greatest experiment alive. To allow her to fulfill her destiny as the beacon for all around the world yearning to be free. Today we honor those who so tragically passed on this day seven years ago.