A poem for the 96

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Bring them home

I remember sitting in my house,
My mother was upset.
I heard my Nan say to her,
He will call soon the Dozy Get.
He was probably helping people out,
You know what he is like.
He is probably on his way home now,
To be fare it’s quite a hike.

The clock it ticked,
My mother paced, up and down the floor.
The nerves set in,
the fear was rife as we all looked at the door.
But in went the key,
The lock it turned and with it came relief.
My Granddad walked in looking sad
His expression beyond belief.

You see he was there,
He saw it all and tried to do his best,
To help those poor bewildered people,
With Liver birds on their chest.
He wouldn’t speak,
He was as pale as a sheet,
Having to experience what he had just then.
It left it’s mark, It scared his soul,
And he never went to an away game again.

We were some of the lucky ones
We got out Granddad back,
But other families weren’t so blessed
There loved ones they did lack.
Ninety six wonderful people,
Never did return,
Because of this there is an eternal flame
Forever it will burn.

But we have been fooled,
They did pass away,
But their spirits we are not without.
Because when we sing you’ll never walk alone,
They are who we sing about.
You see they are with us through our highs
And especially through our lows.
So when you next hear the kopites sing,
In our voices their spirit shows.

Next time you are at the game
And no matter who our manager picks
Don’t just sing for the men in red,
But sing for the 96.
Remember all their families
And the people still waiting for them to come home.
Let them know no matter who they are,
They will never walk alone.

by Alan Summerskill