Down on the ground

Down on the ground,
The signal is sounded,
Piercing whistles,
And the horrendous drone of the siren.

Panic arises,
People scramble to find shelter,
It could only mean one thing,
Air raid!

Then I heard death itself,
The killer chug of Hitler’s bombers,
Desperate to find safety,
I crouch under the nearest place to hide,
A park bench.

Looking round the planes come into view,
There is no sign of the R.A.F fighters,
Or the anti aircraft guns.

Searching for a safer hiding place,
I take a risk and dash into a shop doorway,
Suddenly guns fire, but they are not German,
At last a group of spitfires fly into view.

The guns sound,
But they are too late,
There is the screech of a bomb,
Then nothing,
Hitler had done it again.

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