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Half-past five at the end of a week People on foot pushing past others On crowded pavements. Young women from the countryside, Minor servants of the Irish state, Making their way to trains and buses. The shock from streets away Was a blow in the chest With the sudden realisation That this spelt death for others. No-one close could survive that blast Or maybe just by fluke be only injured. And then the thoughts of those bereaved And the broken lives of those maimed. That evening an entire family was gone. And a woman about to have a child. For a survivor of the Great War this is where His path through life ended. Who could muster enough Hatred for this crime which left us Dwelling on the evil of violence and The greater evil of its glorification. |
