The flag sags down in its pole
too tired to raise in the air.
It refuses to wave in the rain
as the droplets gently fall down.
It hides it face, its identity, its pride
from all who look upon it in rain,
as water fills its heart with fear.
In red and white it flies in the wind,
snapping to and fro in its breeze.
It says nothing, but reminds us
that we live under a banner
a banner of love and honour,
and that cold blood is still spilt
in a land full of justice and beauty.
In the past it has been seen
waving from the stern of ships,
announcing its presence to
all who honour and dishonour it.
The flag brings with it a courage
so strong that all who fight under it
will fight on despite their own fears.
And even though it demands respect
the gentle rains break it down.
The strength of the flag is unmatched,
and will return when the rains stop,
but might not come before the sun,
and when it does it will fly once more
in the presence of our people,
our many groups of people.