On this day the sun beats down
From skies of eggshell blue
And gulls float by cloud white,
Whisps of feathered foam.
On this day the air vibrates
With crickets, traffic, the screeching voice
Of the neighbour calling to her cats
While the sea rolls gentle on the pebbled beach.
Sea cliffs gleam beneath the sun
In silvery calm holding back the waves
And laughter plashes in the pools
Where children poke unhappy crabs.
On that day the air was dull
As if the sky refused to see.
The cracked air screamed with the voice of death
Untimely, man-made, relentless death.
On that day the sea rolled red
The beaches stained like a butcher’s floor.
For the thousands who beneath the cliffs
Pushed back the wave of abject philosophy
With their soft bodies, their hopes and dreams
That longest day stretches to eternity.
Viv Drewa - The Owl Lady 