Oh, the many years this has been your date -
A day amongst others when you were king,
Excused to gorge, get drunk, and stay up late
'Til sickly splendor - finally sleeping.
Dreams of birthdays past reflect on Mom's cake,
And times when Dad put together your toys,
Thoughtful cards that only a Sis could make
For your special day when you were a boy.
When, if your behavior might have been bad,
You were Prince for the day this time each year.
And when you had become a high school grad,
Birthday cakes were rather replaced with beer.
Years of toys and ties and books and cards, all.
Just as magical as that birthday call.
So when you woke on 9-1-1-0-1
You probably thought you might get a call.
You watched the morning news as you've always done.
Without fanfare, your birthday had kicked off Fall.
When suddenly, the TV caught your eyes -
In disbelief you saw New York ablaze.
A wretched act of terror from the skies -
Thousands killed, unseen through the ashen haze.
With terror unfurling, the phone did ring.
Your daughter cried, "What the hell is going on?"
The two of you watched what was happening,
When suddenly, a tower was just gone.
And then while drowned in tears, profoundly sad,
Your Andie said, "Oh - Happy Birthday, Dad."
A guilty chuckle, for a second, came.
A trite refrain, injecting abject fear
With a moment's comfort to ease the pain
While a faint smile licked up a rolling tear.
Soon the day was known as nine eleven,
Or 9-1-1 as ironically said.
A day when you had turned 67,
A day when everyone thought of the dead.
A year's now passed and I want you to see:
Your special day wasn't really hijacked.
It was made everyone's day to be free,
Creating a new spirit which we had lacked.
On this day of days we're much better since,
And you're still September Eleven's Prince.