Isar Encounter Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

There sat on Munich's river bank
upon a travel rug a Yank.
Composing stories of the South
and putting Pretzels in her mouth.

Came riding from the border, Dutch
bespectacled and strange as such,
got off his horse from way up high
apologised for dropping by.

And when he left he sang a song
about the brave, the young and strong
because he needed now to purge
with overwhelming sudden urge

what he had read in purple ink
'but am I harsh? ', it made him think
that he was not a proper critic
and that his mind was analytic

and not equipped to judge those words
although he thought that some were turds
so off he went over the hill
and kept his mouth forever still.