The town is called Shchastya…meaning Happiness…
It has a square where pigeons peck and children run.
And shoppers walk and old men sit and talk
in a low and wintry sun.
Florist Iryana with her natural grace.
arranges flowers …each in its place,
and ties them in a bow.
She hums a little tune she knows whilst
Watering the sweet peas, the carnations..
and the marigolds.
Then the munitions come..
Artillery and mortars.
Rockets and propelled grenades,
Sound off in every quarter…
The Bells of Hell are clanging,
As roof and plaster crash…
Buried flowers…broken vases..
In seconds…came complete disaster.
Iryna runs…she stumbles down the sandy hill
to where the Seversky Donets River flows.
And it is there she falls…
Her twisted body, shattered bones .
An unarmed dying florist lies,
Pine needles in her hair.
The Mayor smokes a cigarette,
There’s terror in the air.
Kristine Byrne 5th March