Bygones

Look at the shape of the words

Forming those crafty palindromes

Look at the shape of the voice

How small does he make you feel?

Have you seen the poirot with his epee?

He stands before the heir apparent

Bowing to the majesty of bonhomie

The voice so called mnemonic

Stands by the lichgate

Sees the fallen in their droves

We watch and weep

Silent, yielded, rueful

When the lights go down

And the echoes haunt our dreams

By dawn as the crow flies

We are waken by the cock-a- doodle-do

Fires still burn in the rubble

Reminders of the day they came

A day etched on our minds for years to come

Even in a world gone mad we cry

And we pray for the day when the world becomes one

When hands reach out across the oceans

But that dream seams unlikely

When the warmongers still call all the shots

So many lost souls

So much pain and so much sorrow

Death and destruction in this so called civilized world

A shadow cast upon us

Terror in the eyes of man, woman and child

Every time we turn on the TV

The images are there before us

We see the suffering at first hand

We must never forget those fallen ones

We must not let bygones pass us by.