Adolf Hitler (born 20 April, 1889 – died 30 April 1945)
This garrulous monk of ravenous bent,
Of whom the Duce said “Non mi piace“,
Who in every message sent
Sold fear at length and very archly
And much that he meant.
While promising Germany greatness again
His goons torched the Reichstag, thus warming-up
A war-ready State that was greedy for gain,
Enlivened by monstering Röhm and Krupp,
Tagging a part of the people as bane.
He chewed upon hunks of shriveling maps,
He bit and swallowed, he gulped and blew,
While better men showed convulsive flaps,
Appeasing while his confidence grew,
Setting and priming and laying his traps.
Shake hands with the Devil, sup with his spoon,
Go with him up to the mountain-top,
Then count your fingers, smell the mud on your shoon
And figure how what you’ve started will stop,
Awake with a start to an unfriendly tune.
When the hinge of fate will close,
Where the gathering storm is come,
As an early frost nips at toes
Concentration might reward some,
Patient in the winter snows.
Those he treated with contempt,
The discards set upon the shelf,
Begin to circle him, unkempt,
Murder, murder, mass and self,
Self-love and loathing never dreamt.
What giant failure of the will
And fearful lack of empathy
Has caused man’s innocence to still
And struck a chord, in sympathy,
With history’s dark, satanic mill?
“Never again” we hear us say,
Firmly shaking our sleepy head,
“Any swine shall rue the day
If he makes and lies in such a bed.”
So we wend purblind and fey.