Stalingrad Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Tap tap tap,
akin it is to rap.
She types all day
into the morn
when with hooray
the war is born.
It is her duty
tap tap tap tap
her lover died
with crumpled map
of Stalingrad
his leaders lied
the Fuehrer mad
there was a booty
in foreign lands
in snow and ice
Siberian sands
they paid their price
so others could
breed more new stock
who later would
believe again
and none would mock
those holy words
from fragile men
who'd send black birds
up in the sky
hurl dynamite
so they could die
the final light
when fighting Czars
God's very own
eyes closed by stars.