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The sirens sound, and once again we cower.
Within our shelters damp and sour.
We sit or lie at our dictates
An listen to this nightly hate.

This nightly hate, whose growing thunder.
Makes high and low being to wonder.
To wonder if, and where and when
This senseless, wasteless slaughter now began, Can ever ben ended by mortal man.

These poems were kindly provided by Henry Edward Mercer's daughter of Newbold Verdon, Leicestershire.

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