A Son

A son: Thomas Howard,
Fourteen years old,
Was lain, hardly checked,
To enter the cold:
“My son, my son,”
Rust-kissed and crushed,
Left pitch-side, to die,
By a force we trust.
Sleep well young man,
With a beautiful dream,
A lad, a child,
Just supporting his team.


Updated reporting on the inquest here – http://www.liverpoolecho.co.uk/all-about/hillsborough-inquests

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