With the day nearly done
And the sky yet cloaked in lead
The stone walls in Charles' Church
Proved to be no thicker than his head.
For they fought a mighty fight;
All they had they chose to spare.
Quaking and shaking from the soil beneath,
Broken and shattered from the hell in the air.
Innocents of Plymouth;
The old, young, and in between
Had not a flame of hope to live for
Except what they could kindle on their knees.
Bowed head and lowered eyes
Vaulted each prayer into the smoky sky,
Spotlights from Smeaton's light house
Guiding each into Heaven's light.
And I was there, I say;
Counting each one into war.
Perfect soldiers they had returned
Bearing news of God's reward!
With the day clearly gone
But the battle nowhere done,
A tip of the hat to those who perished:
For they knew not what was to come...
Based on the memorial to those citizens of Plymouth who were killed in Air-Raids on the city in the 1939-45 war.
