Maybe this will be the last journey <br />And I will not return again <br />Riding down to the stony beach <br />Where spring once was gentle <br />and love innocent <br /> <br />Now autumn clings on, struggles for breath <br />Gliding on the tops of cliffs <br />The paths that resisted invasion <br />Germany, Spain, the French <br />Its strength diminishing by the year <br /> <br />Torn by winter's claws, relentless <br />Brave young defenders, sons of refugees <br />Stubborn homemakers, not ready to yield <br />Their locus of happiness by the sea <br /> <br />I chose the train and not the bus <br />Thinking how you converse in carriages <br />Like those Ealing films, black and white <br />That helped make England a great place to live <br /> <br />A little girl riding for the first time <br />Her mother pale and flittering <br />And grandad in bright Barbados jams <br />All mixed in together with me <br /> <br />Even for suited businesswomen <br />Dealing cards and property <br />The ride is over much too soon <br />Too soon for real ecstasy <br />Or to place the soul at peace <br /> <br />Fresh oysters sold on the stony shore <br />Seagulls louder than the drunken boys <br /> <br />And so the trail leads me here <br />I may not visit in another spring <br />This season is so harsh for weak <br />And sentimental hearts, as mine has been <br /> <br />Soft-bitten, easy with a smile <br />Thinking of homes in London, Spain <br />And summertime, carefree with them <br />Before the years of doubt and pain <br /> <br />Wherein these journeys can't escape <br />The shadows of the darkening sky <br />Where I piggy-back <br />On what came before <br />And lines of blood lead here once more.<br /><br />Frank Bana<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blood-lines-2/
