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Sharp Street Shrine, March 2014


 


It's cold and it's windy


But still that crowd meets


To stand with respect 


At the top of Sharp Street.


 


The Bearers stand at attention


As though shrunken by age


Since those seventy years


When they occupied a world stage.


Now they stand, booted and suited,


With their Medals on display


To pay their respects to


Victims of an earlier day.


Their banners are lowered 


As the tribute silence starts


For the living and the dead


All played their similar parts.


 


The shrine is unveiled,


The names on display,


The heroes who fought and 


Died in those long past days.


The Sharp Street Pals, one hundred


And forty two died from this street


Marched off to Belgium


And the fates they would meet.


Kitchener said they were needed


And they didn't let him down


Joining those Pals from 


The other parts of the town.


 


History has judged harshly


The causes of their fate


But the judgements of history 


By definition are too late.


And nothing can detract 


From the courage and the glory,


The Sharp Street Pals, and this little


Street shrine tells part of their story.


The Standards are raise as


The ceremony end 


One hundred years after the conflict 


Started for that battalion of friends.


 


The people disperse 


And the solemn mood is gone


But for just a little while in


Memory those Pals lived on.


 


 



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Sharp Street Shrine, 2014