|
She waits In the late twilight, Shivering in the wind That scoops up Over the lip Of the chalk cliff. She waits, Listening to the Throb of the Wimpy's engines As the squadron nears Her look-out post. She waits For a glimpse of a Gauntleted hand Waving at her eye level, The hand that caressed Now ready to trigger the tail guns. She waits, Keeping watch Ears straining to catch The returning flight, Waiting to count the returned And the missing. She waits Past the dawn... Waits for the missing... Waits... And waits... And waits. |
| Clare Stewart© 20 October, 2002 |
| So many women stood and watched their men fly off on bombing raids and waited in vain for them to return. In this
poem, loosely based on an incident in my mother's war-time life, I have reflected on
her, and their, experience. "Wimpy" was the affectionate nickname given to the Vickers Wellington bomber. |
Back to Clare's Poetry home page
Back to Clare's Remembrance page
Copyright © E. Clare Stewart