This is not only an homage to the lives that were cut so tenderly short,
But a demonstration of the hatred, ignorance, rage; by which judgment was distort.

On a hot summer day in Alabama these four men planted their deceit.
In the basement of a safe haven known to many as 16th Street.

The McNairs recall that Sunday as no special day,
Saying Denise aroused her same old way.

Draping herself in a dress that was pure and white,
She marveled them, an angel sight.

Her hair was combed perfect to match her sparkling eyes.
She ran to say her final goodbyes.

Then rushed out the door in a dash,
So excited about Youth Day, she forgot to tie her purple sash.

Some time passed, and they heard a sound comparable to a sonic boom.
They turned to the clock to see it was about an hour til noon.

At the church closed doors were flying open and walls were shaking,
And at that moment four lives were taken.

Twenty six children marched into the basement to learn of “The Love That Forgives.”
Twenty two children went home to parents, four missing because of a hate that still lives.

When they got a call to come to the church,
The thought never crossed their mind that Denise was hurt.

But her grandfather said “Denise is dead.”
In his hand he held her little black shoe.

Children aren’t supposed to die, He must be lying,
Mistaken, this calamity cannot be true.

The ride to the hospital was unbearable,
Cries and screams, “Our baby can’t be dead.”
Her battered body in the morgue told the true story.
Cut, bruised, swollen, a rock embedded in her head.

And just three days later they buried their only daughter,
At a precious eleven years old,
This hate killed four girls, this hate bombed a church.
This hate is empty, insidious, and frigidly cold!

That Sunday was a turning point, causing the implication of new legislation calling for integration.
But this hatred is still living, and social is this segregation.

Refusal to accept others because of color, gender, and sexual orientation.
Moral standards held by an immoral society prevent implement of desegregation.

Inferiority, masking the shadows, Superiority clothing the clouds.
That Sunday replaying constantly, bomb-less yet amplifications are just as loud.