Henry Treece (22 December 1911 – 10 June 1966 / Wednesbury, Staffordshire)
Let us go out in the rain, love,
And keep these memories clean;
Then stand beneath the sheltering eave
To fall in love with the moon.
And let us walk in the wood, dear,
Walk in the stillness of pines,
And sigh for the wild birds who cry there
All night in their shuddering dreams.
Then back to our waiting house, sweet,
Four wars and a sturdy roof,
Where nothing can ever harm us -
No, not even grinning Death.
Comments about this poem (Love Poem by Henry Treece )
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