The brooklet chatters softly through the trees

And sparkles in a thousand points of light.

The scent of spring is borne upon the breeze

And skylarks sing above, high out of sight.


The sun pours from a sky serene and blue:

I feel its warmth upon my upturned face.

And everywhere earth’s spirit springs anew:

My carefree soul roams through each hidden place.


And then I hear the cries that echo round

These grim, grey walls of desolate defeat.

The clang of iron brings the brutal sound,

The menace of the rhythmic marching feet.


Within this lonely hell of fear and pain

O let my yearning memories keep me sane.


Chris Mundy.