I. Cobblestones shine from day-long downpour; public holiday takes dreamy footsteps through mid-week tension. II. The sun too shy to rise this morning, yet rises late as rain from the day slowly subsides. At its going and rising, remember… III. Too early and cold this morning; the Dawn Service dropped into my conscience and sat there. I pulled up my blanket and slept. IV. And the knowledge lingers: peace bought with blood hangs over the day, a red-stained cloud to the holiday quiet. V. Cardigan-clad, cold in unheated home, rain outside, cleaning the streets and dampening insides. VI. The knowledge of death beneath, above, this quiet looms: As darkness deepens, Lord with me abide. VII. Battles fought remembered now, though reasons for them elude us, and the peace they brought us sits lazily among us. VIII. Remember now the fallen, not to glory in streets filled with blood, or homes destroyed, but to know of times of war not like this peace. IX. And remember, too, the blood which fell from heaven. Remember too the wars we wage daily with our torpid souls. VIII. Forgive us, Lord, who sit inside and cower from a cold we do not dare to face or feel.