Poem by Lesbia Harford

* * *

All through the day at my machine
There still keeps going
A strange little tune through heart and head
As I sit sewing:
"There is a child in Hungary,
A child I love in Hungary"
The words come flowing.
When I am walking home at night
That song comes after,
And under the trees in holiday time
Or hearing laughter:
"I have a son in Hungary,
My little son in Hungary"
Comes following after.

1. You, whom the grave cannot bind
2. I can't feel the sunshine
3. He had served eighty masters. They'd have said
4. I have golden shoes
5. I love to see

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