The following poem was written by me in   after a double tragedy.  The first one was the explosion of the space shuttle, killing the astronauts and the teacher whose class was watching the launch.  The second was the murder of Christine Jessop, whose brother, Ken, I had taught in Grade 6.  In both cases i strongly felt that the media had not only intruded in an area which demonstrated poor tact, but also that they had exploited the grief of those involved.  One night, feeling more than a little anger, I sat down, picked up a pen, and the words just flowed out...

Last night, the tube exposed your soul,
The papers exploited your grief.
I watched your pained expression grow
And felt so like a thief.

No doubt it moved this stoic mind
From its own self-centeredness.
Did other minds of different kinds
Experience anything less?

A family loss, a cross to bare,
A mother's trembling hand,
A sister's touch no longer there,
Hope falling through like sand.

Who are these unrelenting spies
That make the evening news?
The shuttle blows .... the family cries ....
A hundred different views...

Grief's quick enough to rush our lives.
Why add it from T.V.?
Let those sad souls, ...sons and wives,
Enjoy some privacy.

by P. Wiinholt
(dedicated to Ken Jessop)

Special thanks to Donna Newberry, who rediscovered this poem
after I had thought it lost for many years.