There a coat is clutched to heart,
Black-cloaked and trembling in bitter fear.
A woman’s face is veiled and dark.
A son plays trumpet through his tears.
Once the coat was proudly worn
By men both hell and homeward bound.
But now, in shame, the coat is torn
And hidden deep beneath the ground.
On the breast is pinned a brooch
To hide the ever-piercing scream.
The mouth, a ring of shocked reproach
Spewing out the life within.
Hide, oh brooch, the screams of men.
May every coat be worn again.