Poetry
1916 I left you in the bluebell time Afore that summer's foliage Carpeted those paths we walked In shadow. I clasped you by a gnarled beech tree And felt your urgent heart Against my chest - And the lovely bluebells Hung like mist And life seemed like a story Of hope and yes, of love... But I left you in the bluebell time For Cannock Chase And khaki games of war No bluebell kisses And no words to say Those awful things we saw. from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/VM6i0Qz