Colin F. Jones


Listen to the silence,
Now the smoke is gone,
Listen to the spirits,
Of heroes every one.
Feel their gentle fingers,
Caress and touch your face
That their memory ever lingers
When you visit this foul place.
Watch them rebuild the towers,
Brick by burning brick,
Like seeds producing flowers,
Where the nettles grow so thick…
But listen to the silence
While you choose which flower to pick.