The First To Die Poem by John F. McCullagh

In her majesties prison hospital
The patient slipped in to a coma.
For two months he had led a fast
in solidarity with his brothers.

The men of ‘H" block wouldn't don
Such clothes as thieves might wear
They were men of the Provo I.R.A.;
Politics put them there.

They dressed in sheets and blankets
When denied their clothes to wear
In this time of the "Troubles"
the "Blanket boys" prepared.

No warders food would they accept.
No uniforms would they wear.
The world was focused on Long Kesh
and the brave lads dying there.

Bobby Sands was comatose;
His breathing shallow; his pulse was weak
This Catholic son of Antrim
Nevermore would speak

Just Twenty Seven years of age
As he slipped into the past
Bobby Sands was the first to die,
But he wouldn't be the last.