Sometimes we still dream of you,
In the rose garden.

Wrapped in honor,
Clothed in deep dignity.

A beacon in the tough times,
And impervious to the gutter noise.

With quiet humanness,
You lead us to
Our better selves.

With tears we watched you go,
And the horror grow.

Is this our penitence?

How do we right this ship,
O’ Captain,
My Captian?