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The Hand of a Man





A man?s severed hand, clutching that of a child?s,
Their bodies both gone - monstrously defiled.
Their lives ended that day, in a horrendous blast -
As unreasoning hatred entered their world
And left a nation aghast.

Could the man have lived,
Had he let go -
Of that small hand that made him move slow?
Had he been free to run
If not burdened so?

But as to these we will never know
For it was not in the man to just let go,
He?d chosen life for the child,
He would risk his own to make it so.

And so in the rubble where many had died,
They found the hand of a man?.
The tiny hand of a child clutched tightly inside.

And they cried.