If Earth’s mantle changed
maybe ever so slightly:
We would barely know.
If, minutes before
two thousand and seventeen,
she re-aligns us
so collective colours
drape about aching shoulders
and make us subtly strange,
It may work out that
less becomes our spirit well:
and we can be still.
Today, in the town squares of all great cities
around this beautiful globe,
we will, by common consent, remove divisive flags
hung by history’s tainted shreds of angry pride;
folding them away like old aunty’s table cloths.
And see draped instead, from mountain heights,
a more fantastic sight; our real heritage.
Reflective of all earth’s passion and intensity
absorbing in amazement all our pain,
this is our rainbow – and the music of a shared song.