That winter's night the sky did glow
A flaming amber 'neath the stars,
As the city blazed the bombs lit up
The old cathedral spire,
Wave after endless wave they came
The whining drones the sounds from hell,
That echoed through the searchlights
And the anti-aircraft fire.

The city folk were helpless
As they saw their homes and streets destroyed,
The factories and the workshops
One by one were wiped away,
They watched as the cathedral burned
And saw its mighty roof collapse,
That smouldered through the morning
In the cold light of the day.

As the city lay in ruins
And the fallen bricks did fill the streets,
There was a sense of disbelief
So pitiful the sight,
The stench of death did linger through
That still and hushed November air,
Five hundred lives or more they said
Were lost upon that night.

As years did pass the city grew
And rose again from fire and flame,
Yet no one shall forget that time
Engrained for evermore,
Within the hearts of young and old
For made from charred and fallen beams,
A cross stands on the altar now
To show the cost of war.

(In memory of those killed during the Coventry air raid on the night of 14th November 1940.)

ANDREW BLAKEMORE

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-charred-cross/