Coming home.
Down through summer sky
from far removed tragedy.
Youth will die.
And roll along these streets.
To rest.

They tried to be strong
but were overcome.
Fighting hard
to hold back tears.
Clutching flowers.
Hands on shoulders.
Dark days of youth denied
life's joys of growing older.

Through the town of Wootton Bassett
eight coffins met
with the stilled respect
of solemn mourning.
Then gentle ripples of applause
opened the gates of grief,
where weeping men stood
six deep,
in powerful tribute,
on these streets.

In this little pocket of England,
in this most emotional hour,
in this cortege.
The fallen rifleman now sleeps.
Eight hearses.
Eight coffins
draped in union flags.
Eight proud lifes lost.
Youth's future snubbed
by hollow promises,
collapsed by political cost.

This tragic repatriation,
wrapped in contortions of grief,
for young men who fell,
marked by the tolling
of St Bartholomew's bell.
Teenagers and ex-servicemen,
schoolchildren and pensioners,
together in dignified silence,
bound by mutual spirit
and respect
for those who hold the rifle.

Visible public emotion
laid bare,
as the cortege
slowly passes.
And everyone knows
this won't be the last
to roll through the streets
of honourable Wootton Bassett.