It stood. Not a window broken. Not a stone dislodged.
It stood when nothing else did.
It stood when terrorists brought September down.
It stood among myths. It stood among ruins.
To stand was it's purpose, long lines prove that.
It stands, and around it now, a shrine of letters,
poems, acrostics, litter of the heart.
It is the standing people want: To grieve, serve and
tend celebrate the lasting stone of St. Paul's Chapel.
And deep into its thick breath, the largest banner
fittingly from Oklahoma climbs heavenward with
hands as stars, hands as stripes, hands as flag; and
a rescuer reaches for a stuffed toy to collect a touch;
and George Washington's pew doesn't go unused.
Charity fills a hole or two.
It stood in a place of other sorts.
It stood when nothing else could.
The great had fallen, as the brute hardware came down.
It stood.
-J. Chester Johnson
