When This is Over. A poem by Paul Waring

hear traffic thunder again, drown
spring chaffinch and sparrow song
in waking gardens and parks
where wafer-thin butterflies dance,

oblivious to footfall flock into open
high street arms; free as Llandudno’s
Kashmiri goats to flood retail space,
coffee shops, bars and bookies.

And when this is over, hearts
will stay home, remember ones
they couldn’t kiss goodbye,
hands not there to be held.

Days young and old will recall
giants massed at the front line,
let history imagine what it took
to walk a mile in their shoes.