Here's a little something I found on somebody's blog, it's called The Song of 7 World Trade:
THE SONG OF 7 WORLD TRADE
Cry for me, my city, my street;
Cry for me.
For now in this dusk, this dust, this heat,
I cannot feel my feet, and
I grow weak.
They are gone, my giant sibling twins,
Gone with a vengeful ire,
Having given way to Gravity, and Fire.
Who shall now uphold the sky?
Who shall keep eye on that farthest horizon?
Shall these tasks fall to me? So much their lesser,
I admit: it cannot be.
Cry with me, then, my city, my street,
I am now but a shell of sorrows,
Hollow of spirit, full of ghosts and grief.
Thus forty-seven stories now complete, and
Even I could not foresee
Though the tale was told twice today already:
In steel and stone, glass and concrete,
Flesh and bone.
Fifty thousand footfalls where now there are none.
My time is come; I am undone.
My heart is broken.
My back is broken,
And I cannot feel my feet;
I am fifty thousand sorrows
As twilight falls, falls like me.
Cry, cry for my memory, my city, my street.
Upper West Side, Manhattan
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