A poem inspired by the grave of a police officer murdered in Old Market whilst trying to intervene over the ill-treatment of a donkey.
A Good Man Dies
On his way home from work one day, Off-duty officer hill, He stumbled across a drunken man, Treating his donkey ill.
He confronted the man who turned and ran, Into a pub nearby. He followed and fought the boy was caught, But there the policeman would die.
A good man lies, A simple stone at his head. The rich and the poor so unequally dead.
The flash of a knife would end a life, The colour drained from his face. As the blade went through his blood was drew, And ended his final case.
Conversation stopped, their faces dropped, As the people turned around to see. But what could be said 'bout the man soaked in red? No more than dead was he.
A rich man lies, All power gone from his head. The rich and the poor so unequally dead.
Sentenced to die but the people would cry, Signing petitions to save him. Years in jail though he did prevail Released from a life so grim.
Perhaps he was happy no-one can say, How his family died. Now he was left a wealthy man, Did his past ever leave his side?
The rich and the poor so unequally dead,
If only their graves Could have been payed By the memories gone and tears shed.