Stalag Revisited
Leaving the car beside the road we trudged the track Through trees; now and then like shots the crack Of trodden twigs. No going back on going back.
We reached the clearing: gone the frowning towers, The huts, the wire. No shred of what was ours Still clung: gone even the ache of empty hours.
We breathed again the scent of firs that stood Unmoving, massed, unmoved; and yet we could Hardly remember that time within that wood.
And then we saw a bird transcend the trees, Clearing the clearing, purely it seemed to please, A spirit of hope, escaping earth with ease.
And in its flight recalled how sometimes there A poet's words lightened the listless air.
I kept the poem that kept me from despair.
Peter Way