The child clasps
her father's hand
in hers
leading him
on to where the ice creams are.
He laughs
pulled along by her
eagerness.
A giant
lead by a dwarf.
But now
he must lie down
in the posture
of his death
as if he slept
the sky
a blue so still
not a breath
of wind
disturbs
the terrible howling
a child
looking for her hands.
The bomb
has done
its duty.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/duty-for-my-old-pal-al/
