A sea of white, crosses
outstretched and held aloft,
and the prowess of your name,
thousands of names, as a
hedge against future atrocities.
We pass over from life to
death, calling your spirit to
be with us - our long slow
march snaking onto the soil
where insurgents learned their
trade and we slept through
it all. To rouse ourselves to
memory we sprinkle an
oblation and tell ourselves
no mas, no mas, a mantra
repeated without
ceasing; the finger of
remembrance tracing
your voice upon our souls.
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