by Nick Gisburne
The harbour rests, deserted for a day
A sullen crow stands guard among the boats
The sea gulls know their place; they keep away
Upon the swell a single flower floats
A bell, a toll of torment, marks the time
The chapel on the mountain is unlocked
A tide of mourners starts the steady climb
The children huddle tightly, silent, shocked
Within, the quiet hymns are known to all
They whisper to a soul beneath the sea
But few inside this consecrated hall
Can find the faith to live with what must be
A child, a girl, at peace, as though she sleeps
A village, crushed by grief and anger, weeps
