| |
| (This poem was for one of our
daughters who |
| wanted to read it in school) |
| |
| I was too little to remember |
| That fateful day in late November |
| But history records the event |
| An assassin's bullet; a slain president. |
| |
| Things looked so good in Dallas that day |
| The sun shone bright in the usual way |
| The motorcade moved at a leisurely pace |
| A confident smile on the President's face. |
| |
| Then a shot rang out and the President slumped |
| The governor turned around and jumped, |
| As another bullet struck him down |
| And the S.S. Agents jumped to the ground. |
| |
| In the hospital doctors worked desperately
away |
| While the world waited and folks tried to pray |
| Then at 1:33 a press agent said, |
| "The President of the United States is dead!" |
| |
| In a way I wish i could remember |
| That awful day in late November |
| And yet I think I'm kind of glad |
| 'Cause I know that it was very sad. |
