Baedeker** (Reprisal No.1) Poem by Neil Young

I stare above, see clear sky lit by glowing flares
Making slow descent, all blue and orange flames.
They hover and expose us, mock our imposed blackout.
Warnings howl beneath the moon, but cannot block out
The hum of engines; faint sounds bringing fear and loathing.
Like rats we scuttle in dark coats past shops, leaving
Home behind for cold communion at the shelters.
I join them; wait. Now these collective graves shut us
Off, share quiet mumbling and that damp earth smell.
Outside, gliding bombers have their way. What small
Architecture they must see; Baedeker’s three-star
Model city fixed within their cold, hard stare.
We sit helpless, fearing what the dawn delivers,
Should we survive; what fractured faith and life may leave us.