Tuesday, 28 June 2011


Tonight they are home,
But still, sit the two
Empty chairs at the table.
Two plates less to wash.
Their Mothers hold hankies
To their eyes, while
Their Fathers nod to themselves proudly, reaching
Into the mahogony cabinet in the
Sitting room, placing the medal
With the Queen's name inside, so it
Stands up in its box.
Tonight they are home
And the sounds will be quieter, now.
But over there, in Afghanistan,
The cracks, the shots,
The splitting of flesh
Go on.

Thought for the day

Trifles make perfection, but perfection is no trifle.    

- Michelangelo