Lucien Stryk

(1924 - 2013 / Poland)


Coming out of the station he expected
To bump into the cripple who had clomped,
Bright pencils trailing, across his dreams
For fifteen years. Before setting out
He was ready to offer both his legs,
His arms, his sleepless eyes. But it seemed
There was no need: it looked a healthy town,
The people gay, the new street dancing
In the famous light. Even the War Museum

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