THE HAND

We chose not to remember her with flowers
Or by marking time in minutes and hours
Her life unlived is honour bound
By shining lights and thunderous sound
And when the memorials fade away
We can with truth so proudly say
Our Angel of dreams, her tiny hand
Is held on high across the land
In nations far beyond our own
That symbol now is widely known
So turn up the sound and light the stage
As we turn again another page 
Fire up the amps right up to ten
Our stillborn child will live again

​BY BRIAN MEAR