ramblings and things

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withernwick 1947

When I was four the world turned white
tumbling flakes all through the night
that woke me up to it's glaring light
and cold that nipped my nose.

              The village was cut off from the town
              the railway and roads all closed down
              buried under a shining white gown
              that soaked my boots and bit my toes.

Granddad Barker seventy and tough
stranded in a train had had enough
walked ten miles back through the stuff
and very nearly froze

             Beyond the village just a little way
             winter gripped and won the day
             catching two shires just feet from hay
             trapped to the shoulders in snows.

The day the plough set us free
all the village walked off to see
them still held beneath the trees
just necks and heads on show.

            More than fifty years on I still see
            the way they seemed to look at me
            those large dark sightless eyes
            that seemed to ask if I knew why
            as I stood trying not to cry.

Still now
         some nights
                    it seems
                            those large cold heads
                                                  invade my dreams

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withernwick 1947