Nadya Goes To War

This poem is dedicated to the people of Ukraine. 


Argyll Street glitters in the warm, soft rain,
where Nadya's hawking her papers to the crowd,
selling the news of people and places,
from her pitch by the Palladium’s doors.

She grins and waves away my offered coins;
she's sad—we won't meet again, she sighs.
They need her at home, though her home's destroyed;
a tear belies the sadness in her eyes.

Nadya brims with life, with hope and plans;
perhaps her future's bleak, but who can tell?
In sorrow I grasp her soft, extended hand,
with all my heart, I wish her safe and well.

    That smiling girl insists she must return,
    Nadya the anaesthetist is going to war.  
Location: London, UK

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