The bombs are dropping still
so reminiscent of the dirty days
of powdered dust, so cocoa brown,
the city was surrounded by the coal
that built a generation there,
of Thyssen, Krupp and companies.
They say that there were just a few,
all Pharma men, such keen observers,
I do suspect that history, this time has
without a doubt received re-incarnation.
Well, not to worry, folks, they will not burn
the stuff that could so easily feed any flame.
Old men in fancy bunkers, patient men,
and always counting notes with little smiles,
there cannot ever be an end to this, dear God
you have your raindrops and the sudden snow
you must allow us to present the real show.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem