If only I could hear again, 
The whispering snow 
On candled window pane, 
Or see the glow of gas lamps lit 
To light the dark and silent street. 

If only I could hear again 
The milk cart rumbling, 
The milkman grumbling, 
Crates of bottles clinking, chinking, 
By doorsteps white with snow.

Hear again a door creak open, 
A voice quiet and softly murmuring 
To the milkman frostily crunching 
His bitter way down the icy morning.

If only I could see again 
Those lost now and gone. 
Touch the khaki greatcoat spread 
Across the cold and icy bed, 
Brass buttons winking and we remembering
Some once read stories of tired soldiers
On edgy watch for some gun glinting
Out in the wasteland darkness.

A thousand different greatcoats lying
Reckless in the frozen mud.

If only I could hear again
The crackle of the coal fire burning,
Quiet voices murmuring, teacups rattling,
The smile of one, the touch of another.
The warm hand pulling the covers back
That lie freezing on the frozen bed.

Wake up! Wake up!
The war is over.
Hold memory tight
For nothing will be the same again.

                                         ©2021 Gwen Grant.

If you wish to use any of my work, please contact me.

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