The Weekend that Never Dawned

(Kosmas, 29–30 January 1944. Not to be forgotten.) 

Some dates the years can never claim,
They live as wounds, as duty, as flame.

I stepped out to the lower threshing grounds,
And gazed across the village bounds.
I saw the fire devour the homes,
Wolves among the scattered flocks,
Enemies at every door.

Kosmas woke to smoke and cries,
Flames climbing high into the skies.
Not alone in grief, not alone in pain,
The village burned, but hearts remain.
From five hundred homes, few were spared,
Yet courage endured, and prayers were shared.

That weekend stays alive in our sight,
Not to reopen wounds, but to honour light.

The sheep may scatter, the wolves may roam,
But Kosmas endures to make our hearts its home.