Anderson shelter

The truth is that the wrinkled old tin roof may not be bomb proof.
The smell of earth and gasoline lamp, provide my only comfort.
Shuddering within my skin, the ground is pounding deep within. Resounding with my heartbeat as it quakes within the constant shaking.
Making do with soup tonight. Instead of stew and dumplings, as planned.
Once we heard the rumbling and the sirens started whining,
Blackout.
Time to get the cans and some warm clothes, a torch, and gas masks.
It was gonna be a long night.
You could tell.
The frequency of shell's that fell.
Vibrating through the sliver of Aluminium above our heads, propellers, engine's, bombs, and gun's aswell.
What the hell is happening?
What is all it for?
How many times I ask myself this,
In my Anderson shelter.