Mother Europe Poem by Leo Yankevich
Mother Europe
Smoke in the alley of her love,
rank smouldering rags inside a barrel,
as swarthy Syrians push and shove,
like Moors of old, determined, feral.
They’ll raise the crescent, kill the dove,
till “Allah Akbar” drowns our carol.
Our children will learn soon enough,
in Europe, foolish, vain and sterile.
Sunday, November 1, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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4/25/2024 12:33:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
