In the Glen where I was young
Blue-bell stems stood close together,
In the evenings dew-drops hung
Clear as glass above the heather.
I’d be sitting on a stone,
Legs above the water swung,
I a laddie all alone,
In the glen where I was young.
Well, the glen is empty now,
And far am I from them that love me,
Water to my knees below.
Shrapnel in the clouds above me ;
Watching till I sometimes see.
Instead of death and fighting men.
The people that were kind to me,
And summer in the little glen.
Hold me close until I die.
Lift me up, it’s better so ;
If, before I go, I cry,
It isn’t I’m afraid to go ;
Only sorry for the boy
Sitting there with legs aswing
In my little glen of joy.
In the glen where I was young.
(Ewart Alan Mackintosh)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Joy & Excitement Poems, Youth Poems, Cry Poems, Water Poems, People PoemsBased on Keywords: blue-bell, aswing