That winter's night the sky did glow <br />A flaming amber 'neath the stars, <br />As the city blazed the bombs lit up <br />The old cathedral spire, <br />Wave after endless wave they came <br />The whining drones the sounds from hell, <br />That echoed through the searchlights <br />And the anti-aircraft fire. <br /> <br />The city folk were helpless <br />As they saw their homes and streets destroyed, <br />The factories and the workshops <br />One by one were wiped away, <br />They watched as the cathedral burned <br />And saw its mighty roof collapse, <br />That smouldered through the morning <br />In the cold light of the day. <br /> <br />As the city lay in ruins <br />And the fallen bricks did fill the streets, <br />There was a sense of disbelief <br />So pitiful the sight, <br />The stench of death did linger through <br />That still and hushed November air, <br />Five hundred lives or more they said <br />Were lost upon that night. <br /> <br />As years did pass the city grew <br />And rose again from fire and flame, <br />Yet no one shall forget that time <br />Engrained for evermore, <br />Within the hearts of young and old <br />For made from charred and fallen beams, <br />A cross stands on the altar now <br />To show the cost of war. <br /> <br />(In memory of those killed during the Coventry air raid on the night of 14th November 1940.)<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-charred-cross/
