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