God bless Rick Rescorla - www.RickRescorla.com
A little clutch of veterans share a table in a bar,
There's a guy off in the corner coaxing tunes from his guitar.
They watch the Hudson River as it rolls towards the bend
And they talk of Rick Rescorla as a comrade and a friend.
While out across the water, many ocean-miles away
Within a Cornish Tavern by a sandy Cornish Bay,
Another group are gathered, reminiscing as a clan,
And their thoughts are all of Tammy, from the schoolboy to the man.
And every head among them has a picture in its mind
Which time and place and memory have captured and consigned,
Now the pictures weld together until only one remains,
Of a sturdy, selfless hero guiding others from the flames.
It's a picture which unites them in their glory and their grief,
More eloquent than eulogies, confirming their belief
That theirs had been a privilege to saunter at his side
And in the way he'd lived his life had Rick Rescorla died.
The veterans recalled him in the killing fields of war
As a man whose potent presence would inspire and reassure,
Just one among his brothers when the skies began to fall,
Yet one whom they regarded as a father to them all.
And now their eyes will moisten at the mention of his name
And the sources and the substance of the legend he became,
When mayhem drove the best of men to crave their mother's love,
He'd stand and croon an anthem to the gory gods above.
And on that evil morning, so deceptively serene,
Amid another carnage, just as callous and obscene
Again he took the mantle of the sainted and the strong
To save the lives of others with a blessing and a song.
Between the Hudson River and the sandy shores of Hayle,
Though eyes encompass differences of latitude and scale,
All hands are linked together in the testament they bear,
They are but Rick Rescorlas friends, united by a prayer.
By David Prowse 2001 - WESTERN MORNING NEWS Cornwall UK
You may want to change your tag line, I suggest:
Al-Zawahiri, your time has run out!