It was the last holiday they ever took

In their old clapped out car
A red Ford Escort
stuffed full of everything they owned

The truth
It was more run to the hills than holiday

To convince the children it was Ok, a promise of a trip away seemed the only sway

The last holiday
Before the invaders came
Fleeing desperately into the night soothing the children with tales of sandcastles and light

The last holiday, the last time they’ll see home, the last sparkle of hope

Bear clutched in a four year old’s paw, his future is what they are doing this for…

Copyright John de Gruyther 2018


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