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A young boy in a Liverpool kit runs across the grass.
His red shirt, shorts and socks seem to glisten in the sunlight.
A red balloon is tied to a ribbon he clings onto in his hand.
It bobs and weaves as if pummeled by his tears of sadness.
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In his mind he is shouting out to a person he loves but never knew,
His tears begin to fall like rain,
They mix with the morning dew,
He looks up to the sky so bright,
Not a cloud in sight,
He tries to hold back his tears,
But he is losing the fight.
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He lets the red balloon go free, drifting to the sky,
It moves away as if propelled by his new cries of anguish.
He has a look of sacredness deep inside his eyes,
“I hope this balloon reaches you and you catch it first”,
“I filled it with so much love and tears”,
“I was sure it would have burst.”
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“For next Sunday at a football game there will be another 96”,
“They told me that we got the truth and I thought my heart would be fixed”,
“But here is one more just for you, that makes now 97”,
“There should be a lot of red balloons to tie to the gates of heaven.”
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“I always thought you would come home,
My mum said you never left,
And when I visit Anfield with my dad,
After singing “You’ll never walk alone,”
We always say your name and end it with “God bless”.
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But the tears they have not stopped and they never will,
I hear our mum crying every night,
And then it all goes still,
I wish that I could ease her pain..the tears spilled by our mother,
And I wish I could have played football just once with my older brother.””