64493: Over The Brazier

<p dir="ltr"> What life to lead and where to go<br> After the War, after the War?<br> We'd often talked this way before.<br> But I still see the brazier glow<br> That April night, still feel the smoke<br> And stifling pungency of burning coke.<br> I'd thought: 'A cottage in the hills,<br> North Wales, a cottage full of books,<br> Pictures and brass and cosy nooks<br> And comfortable broad window-sills,<br> Flowers in the garden, walls all white.<br> I'd live there peacefully and dream and write.'<br> But Willie said: 'No, Home's no good:<br> Old England's quite a hopeless place,<br> I've lost all feeling for my race:<br> But France has given my heart and blood<br> Enough to last me all my life,<br> I'm off to Canada with my wee wife.<br> 'Come with us, Mac, old thing,' but Mac<br> Drawled: 'No, a Coral Isle for me,<br> A warm green jewel in the South Sea.<br> There's merit in a lumber shack,<br> And labour is a grand thing...but---<br> Give me my hot beach and my cocoanut.'<br> So then we built and stocked for Willie<br> His log-hut, and for Mac a calm<br> Rock-a-bye cradle on a palm---<br> Idyllic dwellings---but this silly<br> Mad War has now wrecked both, and what<br> Better hopes has my little cottage got?</p>