Hero

With his sombre pulpit tones
The newsman signals more disaster.
His face assumes a serious look
With darkened glance and sorrowful frown.

He tells of car bombs, mines and bullets,
More young soldiers dead and wounded.
He shows grim, grainy film of bomb blast,
Severed flesh and ruined lives.

Behind him on the studio wall
Three bright young faces smile, not dreaming
That they’d be home in time for Christmas,
Destroyed and lifeless in their coffins.

Round the nation, viewers yawn
Stretch and wriggle in their seats.
No longer touched by what they see,
Yearning for some brighter news.

The newsman’s facial lines are changing,
His winsome smile lifts watchers’ spirits.
Behind him now the nation’s champion
Sneaks the ball between goalposts

Viewers beam and spring to life,
They grin and nod and tune back in
To see the goal from every angle,
Speeded up and in slow motion

Raucous shouts and garbled anthems
Background sounds to high-flown prose
In praise of bravery in attack
Against a dedicated foe

Commentators search for words
To best describe this startling deed
Amazing, stunning, astounding, brave
They cry ‘this man’s a hero’

And in some miserable dusty place
Three young men are reassembled,
And quietly, reverently, without fuss
Flown home, alone, to grieving loved ones.

Which ones I ask, are really fearless?
Which ones have fought the most dread foe?
Which ones amaze you and astound you?
Which, I ask, should be dubbed hero

It’s time to think about our language
The way we praise, the when, the who
To find again the right perspective
Give highest praise where it’s really due.