Here you can read the poems:
The End of Summer
It is the end of summer
The end of day and cool,
As children, holiday-sated,
Idle happily from school.
Dusk is slow to gather
The pavements are still bright,
It is the end of summer
And a bag of dynamite
Is pushed behind the counter
Of a department store, and soon
A trembling hand will put an end
To an English afternoon.
The sun on rooftops gleaming
Underlines the need to kill,
It is the en of summer
And all is cool, all is still.
Roger McGough
Children in wartime
Sirens ripped open
the warm silk of sleep;
we ricocheted to the shelter
moated by streets
that ran with darkness.
People said it was a storm,
but flak
had not the right sound
for rain;
thunder left such huge craters
of silence,
we knew this was no giant
playing bowls.
And later,
when I saw the jaw of glass,
where once had hung
my window spun with stars;
it seemed the sky
lay broken on the floor.
Isobel Thrilling
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