Stalag 6B Lamsdorf 1942
The soft sound of the cold,
crooning, Silesian wind,
moving the tall dark trees
beyond a world of wire,
reminds me of the old
and rugged, northern fells.
Of gravel scaurs and screes,
a kettle, singing breeze
above the summer's fire ...
Again the snarls of war
upon a training ground.
O Wind, your songs are drowned
by loud the battle noise,
a sudden sound of bells ...
O Time, the simple joys
in days when we were free
to watch the leaves of autumn
fall from an English tree...
John Dixon
