I wrote this poem one Sunday afternoon in my mother’s kitchen.  The year was 1972. The person I wrote it for went to Lenadoon and never returned.  To me anyway!

Go then to Lenadoon

and take yourself from me

for yonder gives you hope

that tomorrow might be free

while soldiers fire their guns

and your are gone from me.

Come back from Lenadoon

and bring yourself to me

leave aside your Armalite

for love will set us free

but, like the truce in Lenadoon

our love was not to be.