If you, my love, return to me
from bloody fields of Normandy
from filth and pain and misery
from bitterness and tragedy
then shall I live again.
The song of the common blackbird
shall sound as the lark to mine ears;
each little leaf of God's green trees
shall fill my heart with tears
of gladness that such wondrous gifts
should shine before mine eyes
and every constant nagging care
shall vanish to the skies;
with joyous fire my blood shall burn
if you return.
But if you should return no more
from out those fields of muddy gore
ne'er once again on England's shore
to stand: nor enter Love's own door
then shall my soul be dead.
No song shall stir my broken heart
with wonder or with joy;
no beauteous gift from God above
shall e'er my grief allay.
Like ice my blood shall slowly move
through frozen veins and hardened stone
because my heart and life and soul
belonged to you and you alone.
Nothing shall I feel but pain
if you come not back again
William Richard Torvaney
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/if-you-5/
