The Anderson Shelter

l decided to write a little poem today about when my late mom and dad told me about the time when, as a newly young married couple, they climbed out of their Anderson Shelter built in their back garden during WW2, to find their house badly damaged. The Anderson Shelter. Shards of glass and splintered wood and wardens struggling through the mud the 'all clear' wail that died away in echo's walls, we had to stay. Attuned attention we turned our ear as doodlebugs our greatest fear and clung to box in case were gassed and held our heads to measured blast. The holes in walls and roof ripped off and dust exhumed with every cough we held hands tight for what we'd see from metal tomb as we climbed free. Our home destroyed and belongings gone but no one hurt, not single one we don't look back, as days were bad we survived it all , for that we're glad.