I’m stood here on the platform; <br />I’m holding my mother’s hand. <br />There are things that are going on - <br />Things that I don’t understand. <br /> <br />Me and all the other kids, <br />We’re being sent away; <br />We’re going down to Devon – <br />Which I know is a long, long way. <br /> <br />I hope that they’ll be really nice - <br />The folks I’m staying with. <br />I’m dying to see the countryside, <br />Where the cows and sheep all live. <br /> <br />We’re all going far away, <br />To keep us safe from harm; <br />I’ve never seen a hill or stream, <br />And I’ve never seen a farm. <br /> <br />Some of the kids are excited, <br />While others are full of fear. <br />Some have smiling faces. <br />While others are crying tears. <br /> <br />‘Mum, are you coming to? ’ <br />I overhear a little girl ask, <br />As I stand there tightly clutching <br />My case and my gas mask. <br /> <br />It’s a little like an adventure – <br />Like an extended holiday. <br />My mother, she has told me <br />To be good and really brave. <br /> <br />Just before I board the train, <br />My mother, she hugs me tight; <br />As I stare out of the window, <br />She calls, ‘Don’t forget to write! ’ <br /> <br />I see the tear-stained faces, <br />As the shrill whistle blows; <br />Exactly where any of us’ll end up, <br />None of us really knows. <br /> <br />I’ll miss my home and my dog, <br />And I’ll miss my dad and mum. <br />Me and all the others can’t wait <br />until this war is over and done.<br /><br />Angela Wybrow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-evacuee/
