Youth hostelling in Normandy
Poem by Roger Iredale
The Paris gendarme whimsically dropped
round David’s neck a garland he’d found,
and waved us on. We pedalled stoically
over Normandy as wind plucked cuffs
and panniers, barns hosted us.
Till one night, sleeping in a ruined
chateau guarded by a ghostly widow,
who led us down dark corridors of dust,
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