The time and date is:
4:05 am Sunday, 18 March 2018
* Home

* Ballads
* Ballad Features
* Burns
* McGonagall
* Other Poetry
* Scottish Writers
* Scots Glossary

* Alphabetical List
* Featured List

* List of Topics

* Scottish Songs
* Modern Songs

* Submit a Poem
* Submit a Song

* Copyright
* Permission
* Privacy
* Standards

Web Links
* Other Sites

* About Us
* E-mail Us

London's Seven Seven ©

Author’s prologue
To the victims of the recent terrorist attacks in London, I offer my sincerest condolences for the families of all the deceased: regardless of race. colour, creed, religion or any other “thing” that others would see as being an impediment between us. I offer my sincerest hopes for the injured and all affected by the thugs and cowards who perpetrated this great crime. One way or another they will be found and dealt with, how that is achieved I do not care, it will happen. Peace to all………..Baba!

Stewarton, Scotland

London’s population numbers more than have some nations,
a multi cultured capital built on solid race relations.
Thursday morning rush hour slowly getting underway,
as workers head routinely to the station and the subway.

The flocks of dreamy sheep, are gathered huddled without fuss,
amassed at stop and platform as they await the train and bus.
Half asleep with stifled yawn, long the day they will retire,
are unaware the wolves that stalk, disguised in our attire.

Superficial conversations as they while away their time,
but waiting in the background the unimaginable of crimes.
Bombs are being planted that will sacrifice the meek,
evil things that men will do, what havoc that they wreak.

Boarding for departure all their plans are set in motion,
A flash and bang explosion announce a murderous commotion.
They found a captive audience forced to listen to their bile,
and witness to their terror, of their cunning and their guile.

The fundamental question raised that only they must face,
what cause is fought that wills a man to fall so far from grace?
They will not win, they cannot win, that thing that can’t be won,
it’s not a prize, our way of life, and it cannot be undone.

Now it’s they who must bare witness to our resolve, we are united,
despite horrific callings from the callous uninvited.
We will tend upon our wounded and we’ll grieve upon our dead,
their blood a stain upon their hands that is forever dripping red.

They’ve scurried off and hid beneath that haven of a stone,
we’ll uncover each and all of them, when found, they will atone.
Today will be remembered as the day we witnessed hell,
believe that their tomorrows dawn within the prison cell

Web Site by IT-SERVE © 1999 - 2018 All Rights Reserved Return to top