Herbert Nehrlich

Rookie (04 October 1943 / Germany)

Her Death - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

They'd built a wall around him while he slept,
he'd wake and take what they were free to give,
one of the maids, the scrubbing girl, she wept
and questioned loudly whether he should live.

He'd broken pledges and the rules of silly fools.
Took fancy to a girl of meager means
he had attended all the proper, fancy schools
stuck into cracks of female cousins pinto beans.

And when he grew to where they let him run his life
he seemed adjusted and beholdin' to his peers,
he took a floozy for his first and final wife
and drowned his sorrows in a steady flow of beers.

They had a gaggle of genetic imbeciles
and he was proud of only one, the little tyke,
who'd ride his two-wheeled rusted horse for many miles,
until he came upon the man who owned the dyke.

Take out your finger, so he yelled, there is no need,
the man named Hans was very doubtful and he balked
but then he did and there was mayhem time indeed
so they sat down and watched the end while no one talked.

Up on his horse there was a figure clad in fur,
she was his treasure and the reason he had gone.
There would be penalty just on account of her
the question was who would it be to play the pawn.

He laid her down in what he saw was softest moss
and held her close, she was asleep and had no breath,
he would not ever see his failure and his loss
until the gods came down to give to him is death.


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, February 15, 2009



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