Afterwards, we said it was not much more
than dry desert in a far-off place.
We would have forgotten it long before
only the news kept on showing her face
short of a full nose and ears. Her broken teeth
were like those high statues pounded beyond
all shape. We felt sad concern but not grief -
let others sink in a Slough of Despond,
those who are closer to the action. Here,
it is business as usual. They say
she set herself on fire. I shed no tear
while I make it clear there is a Third Way:
do what we can when we can - if we can.
There is expediency in God's plan.
(A different version from the poem which won the Ealing Autumn Festival Competition.)