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  • Children's Experience During Wartime Bombings

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    iffinichonchubhair
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    This poem describes a child's experience during an air raid from the perspective of a child. The child is awakened by sirens and rushes with others to a shelter as the streets outside fill with darkness. Though told it was a storm, the sounds of falling bombs were different than rain or thunder. The next day, the child sees that a bomb has shattered the window where stars used to be seen, making it seem the broken sky now lay on the floor.

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    Children in Wartime

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    This poem describes a child's experience during an air raid from the perspective of a child. The child is awakened by sirens and rushes with others to a shelter as the streets outside fill with darkness. Though told it was a storm, the sounds of falling bombs were different than rain or thunder. The next day, the child sees that a bomb has shattered the window where stars used to be seen, making it seem the broken sky now lay on the floor.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    31 views1 page

    Children's Experience During Wartime Bombings

    Uploaded by

    iffinichonchubhair
    This poem describes a child's experience during an air raid from the perspective of a child. The child is awakened by sirens and rushes with others to a shelter as the streets outside fill with darkness. Though told it was a storm, the sounds of falling bombs were different than rain or thunder. The next day, the child sees that a bomb has shattered the window where stars used to be seen, making it seem the broken sky now lay on the floor.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    of 1

    Children 

    In Wartime  
     
    Sirens ripped open  
    the warm silk of sleep; we ricocheted to the shelter moated by streets  
    that ran with darkness.  
    People said it was a storm,  
    but fl ak*  
    had not the right sound  
    for rain;  
    thunder left such huge craters  
    of silence,  
    we knew this was no giant  
    playing bowls.  
    And later,  
    when I saw the jaw of glass,  
    where once had hung  
    my window spun with stars;  
    it seemed the sky  
    lay broken on my floor.  
     
    Isobel Thrilling 

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