So desolate, I walked onward An expanse of sand running mile after mile In the distance the sound of thunder Then as if a mirage at sea a village of ramshackle homes Single story on a sandbank all with gardens of the strangest design A flea farm,Β Β gooseberry bushes and butterflies in net cages Children playing, the voices of grandparents The sea now lapping at my heels and between their twisted porches, where on earth could I be In reality? For I no longer walked the earth The thunder was the howitzers shelling the beach The vilage, that of my childhood For my mind in its last throws had given me a thought of memory,Β Β that of childhood and family that of loving not war The sea and sand being of beauty Now limbless, face down on a Normandy beach drowning. Then darkness Silence Peace