The naked bodies in a heap,
The ecstasy of death’s embraces,
The young boy smiling in his sleep.
Since they were murdered in Tunisia
In ’58, Death’s gotten busier;
Collateral damage is now the norm
From Palestine to Desert Storm.
We recognise these peaceful features
So well we barely catch our breath;
Who are so intimate with death,
We know their murders barely reach us.
But most of all we know whose boots
Stand guarding over empire’s fruits.
http://www.literaturenortheast.co.uk/writers/Andy_Croft_A-Z
