Tourist laugh where you once lay,
waiting to die, dying, dead.
Where you once drowned, they now swim;
the past is a thousand miles away.

But out on the mole, out in the bay,
I can close my eyes.
I can almost hear your cries
as you waited for deliverance.
Praying to avoid
the bite of a bullet or the embrace of the sea.

Your sacrifice has not faded away
in the fifty years since that Judgement Day.
I breathe your clammy, cold determination.
Your courage still lingers here.