I saw the murals on the walls

Up and down the bloody Falls.

I heard the whisky wisdom

In the secret bloody halls.

I saw the young men growing old

Using youth to look quite bold.

I saw the hidden terror

As they heeded hatred's calls.

The squaddie checked his backpack

Painted face both pale and black.

I saw the scribbled missive to his loved ones

In case he did not come back.

And looking back what can I say?

Did we learn from that black day?

Nothing learned from such bloodshed

I turn and walk away.

                               _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Owain Glyn