This is the poem I wrote when I was 12.

On the day of Nine Eleven

God was crying up in Heaven

He wept for all those who died

He wept for all their innocent lives

He worried for the families back home

Who would feel confused and alone

Seconds later was a knock at the gate

Standing there was a little girl of eight

Her whole body was burned black and blue

But Our Father knew just what to do

He picked her up and held her tight

She was healed, made alright

Thousands more came in moments to come

They, too, were healed by the Father and Son

Angels were sent out onto Earth

To help those sad, angry, and hurt

The internal scars will always remain

But in time they will let go of some of the pain.