In honouring our dead we lay their ghosts.
We look again from human need and pain.
Which one has loved,which one has hurt the most?
Forgive and let no bitterness remain.

For them,the humble, no portraits were made,
Just word pictures which fade back in the mind.
Kings and lords paid artists, yet forbade
The showing of cruel lips and eyes unkind

Yet even they are trodden underfoot
Their gold protected virtue not at all.
The soul is made from feelings which don’t rot,
No holy spirit’s sold in our great Malls.

We need to speak and love in this moment .
And look on all with glad-eyed,warm intent