Contributed by Katherine Baker
Somewhere within the night's cold air,
spirits wandered and to us dared,
searching, searching, does any care,
reminded of the wrong done there?
The answer to their quest explained,
echoed, and heard, in earth's red stain,
upon grieved ears resounding pain,
was all the searching had to gain.
And so, the wind was stirred to blow,
echoes of a soul slain below,
as before at the hands of foes,
a voice unheard, and yet we know.