The Little Corporal Poem by Peter J White

A rare manner of man, God inspired or Devil’s pawn can change the course
Of history. Was he ingenuous or mad who, in his twisted mind
Scorned the reproach of national failure? Baleful, seething with force
Of resentment unmeasurable, he endured her shame; indifferent, blind
To the consequences, save that Germany, defender of honour, must rise again,
Phoenix of medieval splendour as right and destiny decreed.
He saw her, metaphor of Christ, stabbed bloody in the side, the blame
Accruing to Bolsheviks and Jews who crucified, as he believed,
The Master Race he cherished. Sworn to turn around the Great War,
In which so many fought and perished, Herr Adolf Hitler travelled far.

Britannia's parliament, segmented, high-minded and naive; assured the gravity
Of war prevented, slept on. Distant Uncle Sam, heedless of Germany rearmed
Gave place to other matters: interest rates, the price of wheat maybe, to triviality,
As Hitler’s Third Reich called from the depths of defeat, at his command;
From Europe’s most numerous, ruthless, talented race, forces hurled
In the face of friend or foe with violent, savage fury. Brutal attack
On neighbours inconceivable, to a tranquil and submissive, unwitting world,
This man, failed artist, now contemptuous Master of All, turning his back
On the League of Nations; on Disarmament; on civilised, polite debate,
Unleashed the dogs of war, conjuring a dark xenophobic realm of hate.

Teutonic Race unite! Goose stepping legions, predators of the Rhineland,
Of Austria, the Sudent and beyond forged a Greater Germany, spurning all other,
Voiding their rheum on the Jews, seed of the heritage Judaism defined,
Uprooted and marked for death; the Yellow Star of David sent to smother
In the gas chambers of Treblinka and Auchwitz; genes of Einstein transmuted to soap.
Until, above and beyond the ruin and chaos, democracy’s merciful flower,
Called from her dreams, awoke and polished rusty weapons, beacon of hope
Rekindled in sullen submission as men of destiny, born for this hour,
With blood, sweat and tears tore down Hitler’s obscentities of racial pride,
Molten in battle’s crucible the sword by which he lived and died.