The Spring of ‘45’ 

By Sis Unsworth 

The Union Jack so proudly shown,

distracted from the street,

of bombed out shells that once were home,

to folk I’ll never meet.

 

Street parties came, with tables laid,

we danced and sang for more,

what was this peace for which we’d prayed,

I‘d known nothing else but war.

 

A little girl with a pink dress on,

And ribbons in my hair,

Too young to know why we’d fought so long

With a man no longer there.

 

Pictures of him were placed that night,

on a bonfire along the drive,

I watched them burn in the twisted light

in the spring of ‘45’

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth