A nation lost without a war,
Still standing, but not as before.
Its voice grew faint, its edges thin,
And we became the ghosts within.
Then, from the silence, ghosts arose,
With fire where remembrance grows.
The past returned in hearts unbowed,
And whispered truths became a crowd.
Frank Wright@frankwrighter
I want to talk about the beauty of my country and the poetry of my people to my children. Today I had to tell my son I was reporting the attempted beheading of one of our men by a migrant. I remember Fusilier Rigby. I remember the country I grew up in. I want it back.
English
