Will they never fade or pass! <br />The mud, and the misty figures endlessly coming <br />In file through the foul morass, <br />And the grey flood-water ripping the reeds and grass, <br />And the steel wings drumming. <br /> <br />The hills are bright in the sun: <br />There's nothing changed or marred in the well-known places; <br />When work for the day is done <br />There's talk, and quiet laughter, and gleams of fun <br />On the old folks' faces. <br /> <br />I have returned to these: <br />The farm, and the kindly Bush, and the young calves lowing; <br />But all that my mind sees <br />Is a quaking bog in a mist - stark, snapped trees, <br />And the dark Somme flowing. <br /><br /><br />Vance Palmer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-farmer-remembers-the-somme/
