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March 2003

With slow and lingering steps he walked away Far down the long wide path between the trees And there was nothing I could do but pray.

The path he took would lead across the seas And far across the desert's sun-soaked sand, The path he took would bring no English breeze.

And when will he return to this lush land To smell the honeysuckle's sweetest scent, To hear the music of his favourite band?

It's here his happy childhood days were spent, Here where the roses in profusion grow, Now he could die alone in some bleak tent For soon the wind of change will surely blow, And will it mean just one red poppy more Or will for him the roses always grow?

Pamela Campbell

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