´óÏó´«Ã½

By kind permission of the Author

Tracing patterns with a finger
In the misty breaths we blow,
Watching wistful through the window
Softly falling swirling snow.
Seeing landmarks disappear
As it blankets all below,
Later, awed and half excited,
Gazing at the flickering sky,
Knowing buildings are still burning
Though the Air Raid’s well gone by.
Later still, those flattened landmarks
Make our mother want to cry.

‘This story was submitted to the People’s War site by ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Merseyside’s People’s War team on behalf of the author and has been added to the site with his/ her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.’

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