Oh how I wish I could remember, that uniquely sacred structure.
That resolute fortress, the Mexicans ultimately plundered.
Maybe then I’d be more reverent of that old Texas mission,
and wouldn’t even question how their leaders made the transition.
Oh how I wish I could remember, from the time when I was much smaller.
when doors were wider and ceilings much taller.
Maybe then I’d be more inclined to remember a slice of James Bowie’s life,
instead I’m content with knowing him for little more than his knife.
Oh how I wish I could remember, from back when I wore size six,
that heralded building that cemented itself in Texan politics.
Maybe then Davy Crockett’s heroics would be held in higher esteem,
and I would play along in my battling daydreams.
I love the much more imposing memorial that is adjunctly erected.
I love that despite the slaughter, the city’s Spanish/Mexican heritage is easily detected.
I love that I don’t remember the Alamo,
despite my early visit where I traced the rivers of San Antonio.