For The 96

It could have been me, or it could have been you.
Or anyone you knew or loved, wearing red, white or blue.
And now many years later, no matter how hard I try.
Today's a day I can't help but cry.
And those people should never be rid of the shame.
For pointing their fingers, and shifting the blame.
I'll never forget that sunny, spring afternoon.
Or forgive those who turned a terrace into a tomb.
And now I pray as each candle is lit.
For those who once stood, were today I now sit.
Then I'll lay my red rose under the flame.
Which will burn forever, in honour of their name.

By Mike Bartram