Margarete A. Jordan
Her Doll, The Clown
A new day dawning, air raids ceasing, peace over the land at last,
Towering ruins in various shapes on battered ground their shadows cast,
Bizarre, like surrealistic works of artists from another time,
Whose minds in keen, advancing quest the ladder to their goals did climb. Manifestation of their visions, created not by their own hands,
But the powerful decisions of leading men in other lands.
Dreadful destruction on the ground, a wail of sorrow in the air,
Enormous craters all around, like gaping wounds in need of
A whimpering sound, an echo faint, a sudden ...