|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
Stretcher to stretcher still they came,
Young and old all looked the same -
Grimed and battered
Bleeding and shattered
And who they were it hardly mattered.
Where shall we put
The dogs and cats
The budgerigar
And the cricket bat?
Remnants of lives and forever lost days,
Families ended, minds that were dazed,
Clutched to the breast
Was all they had left
Of life that had gone and homes that were wrecked.
Where shall we put
The shopping bag
The picture of Grandma
The doll of rag?
Covered with dirt and with soot and with dust -
How to begin to clean them up,
To uncover the faces,
Identify people
When nothing is left of human features.
What shall we say
To the waiting friends?
How shall we know
Such anonymous ends?
And some are so still in the hospital beds
Who is dying and who is dead?
The dead must be moved
To make room for the living
But how tell the children tearfully clinging?
What can we say
As they call to a mother?
Or, dead on a stretcher,
A sister or brother.
Whom shall we blame for the folly of war?
Whom shall we tell these stories for?
Who will believe
The sadness of death,
The terror, the fear, and the emptiness -
What can they know
Of the vacant eyes
The sorrow too deep
In the heart that dies?
by
Barbara Catherine Edwards
