May 82 It rained, And I heard it fall. Maybe not every drop, But almost all. We cut the turf, And stacked it high. Two foot thick, And just as wide. Rain ran down my face, While it filled the hole. Soaked my clothes, Washed my soul. No gentle pitter-patter this, It crashed. The wind howled and blew, As the bayonets slashed. All the while, Eight thousand miles away. You cheered....... Got drunk, And slept In a cosy warm bed. Giajl © Jim Love
Posted on: Sat, 30 Aug 2014 20:20:57 +0000
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