Bright morning sunshine,

the day betrays the evening

in which I know

you search for a small glimpse,

the testimony of 89

in amongst the crowd,

to know where your brother was

and I wish I could take that pain away

for you.

We had spent the morning

putting flowers on a grave,

windswept and council unloved,

an old man on a tattered bench

sits and watches as I say a few words

for the underground,

the flowers laid, we bow our heads

till February, yet the day is not over,

you watch the day when the Government

tried to tarnish and smear the name

of your city.

Ian D. Hall 2016