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From over Satan’s mountain

it appears, drifting in circles

wings outspread catching thermals

all eyes and beak

each stone, every blade of grass

pin points on its feathered screen


and we – field mice shivering

in our burrows from its gaze


thinking: how little had changed

since childhood, London 1944

blinds drawn, blacked out

shivering in the dreadful drone

sent by the Luftwaffe


where would they fall tonight?


We spent our summers in music

ice creams, cricket, good novels

fish and chips, high heels

and Lambeth walks


Counted the gaps, the warless years

with calipers and disbelief

and then with tattered expectations

heard again the birds of prey

winging their Katyusha way

their Scudding syllables

filling our skies

as we


In our bomb proof shelters

write on – tales of heroism


dreams of peace

and wingless skies

unfinished sagas

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© Johnmichael Simon



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