I say for the three thousand who
can't speak. I say for those who have left and no longer walk
in the light but were cast off into darkness on that September
morn. I say for those who no longer feel a lovers caress or feel
the breath of a child or lay between blankets in the sleep of
winter. I say for those who won't feel the heat of summer or
the chill of fall, for those who will never ride down 
a
dusty road at dusk or marvel at Gods constellation.
I say for the three thousand who will never know what hit them.
When a speck in the sky on a clear blue day brought death and
loss. I say for the year we have lived as they have died and
let us not forget, they were us. I say it's for the three thousand
who are the hollow eyed of Shiloh or the dead of Gettysburg or
the old men of Normandy and Pearl Harbor. The difference between
these places is one of geography and not one in kind. The dead
are just as dead and just as hallowed.
I say for the three thousand who will never know fathers and
mothers and daughters and sons. Who will never watch a school
play or a child sound out the words of language. I say for those
who cannot watch a movie or a play or read and marvel at the
folly of human experience. I say for those million tears of greif
shed by those left behind.
I say for the three thousand then build a park. Build on the
sixteen acres a park of life. These people were not bankers or
lawyers or clerks or accountants. These were God's children and
their place should be of Him and nature is his greatest celebration.
So don't build a building on their site. Don't create commerce
to honor them for they were not of money but of earth. Honor
them with a place of quiet and let the almighty dollar take it's
place behind.
I say for the three thousand, rest in peace.
