The Marsh of Rhuddlan.
Each act of violence must file its brief.
The loss of loved ones must find consolation,
Ennobled by some passionate belief.
Regard, then, all the murdered of the ages,
Aghast at all the words that justified,
Not without cause, the ever righteous rages,
So small against the sum of those who died.
Due consideration waits on sages,
Aloof from the concerns of either side,
Years hence, when all are drained of hate and grief.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon