Cracks and chips off the Post Office pillars,
Concrete Angels wings, riddled with bullet holes,
Stand in the middle of Main Street.

Nine and ninety years ago,
Yet feeling like it was the day before my birth,
Just before my lifetime.

A ****** Sabbath to change everything.

There are many noble reasons
To shed one's blood
And give one's own life.

There are none to justify
Spilling the blood of another
And taking their one, only life.

And the philosophers,
During meek mid-mornings in April,
Were hanged without trial,
Gone judge nor jury.

Or sent to firing squad,
For the quicker, 'kinder' death.

But their deaths,
Slow nor instant,
Were not in vain.

-Jamie F. Nugent