25 June 2012
Lined up, a regiment, row by row Where on a Friday I would go To buy the fish and crabs and socks And picture hooks and clogs and clocks. Where stalls and noise and traders cries Once stood, a Friday lullaby, Lie the ashen, crumpled lot, Victims of old Hitler's plot. And there among the faces white Is, to me such a sorry sight, My dear old Ma and brother Jim Picking through the place so grim, To find my face amongst the crowd Of lifeless shells under bloody white shrouds. A gasp of pain, her sobs explode, a shout At three young sons strewn all about, Pulled from ashes, soot, debris As bombs blitzed our fair city. But fear you not Ma We're still here, Floating, ethereal to those we hold dear, You'll feel our hands upon your shoulder, Feel us as the room gets colder. But fear not, Ma, we're here for you For you, for Da and Jimmy to.
©Delilah
Haunted Belfast #3: Marketplace • Opuss № I