They draw glances from the road,

Sympathisers and some emphasisers,

Some trudge, some go

between the trees, debris and bodies.

 
Heads bob along the wall,

Ready to crouch and lie

flowers to a mama, papa

Or child.

 
They draw glances from those lost

in the Boxing Day hubbub,

Sympathisers and empathisers

but glances fade and turn away.

 
Another visit

another day,

You just miss being whole

on Christmas Day.

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