Barbara Poem by Tom Billsborough

You will remember, Barbara,
It rained incessantly that day
Upon the streets of Brest.
And you were walking, smiling
And ravishingly blooming,
And rain-drop drippingly gay.

You will remember, Barbara,
It rained incessantly in Brest
And I crossed paths with you
In Siam Street where we exchanged smiles.

You will remember, Barbara,
You whom I did not know
And who did not know me.
Remember, remember that day
Anyway. Never forget it, please.
Under a porch for a shelter
A man called out your name:
Barbara.
And you ran towards him in the rain,
Ravishingly blooming, and rain-drop dripping,
And threw yourself into his arms.

You will remember, Barbara.
Do not be vexed if I call you 'tu'.
I use it for all of those I love,
Even if I've just seen them but once.
I use for all who love one another,
Even if I do not know them at all.

You will remember, Barbara,
The wise and joyous rain
Upon your happy face, that happy town,
That rain upon the sea,
The arsenal too and on the Ushant boat.

Oh Barbara, how stupid is this war,
How are you now under this rain
Of iron and fire and steel and blood,
And he who embraced you in his arm
Missing, still alive, or dead?

Oh Barbara,
It is raining incessantly in Brest
As it was before.
But it's not the same anymore.
All is damaged now.
It is a rain of an awful and desolate mourning.
No longer the storm
Of iron, steel and blood.
It is simply the clouds dying like dogs,
Dogs that disappear in a stream over Brest
And go to rot far away,
So far, far away from Brest,
Of which nothing remains.