Inside the Pappkarton he hides, <br />the masses have assembled at the Square, <br />soft white and manicured his fingers pound the sides <br />as vulgar voices taunt him, it's a dare. <br /> <br />Come out, come out they shout, inside the Affe <br />is tempted by the Devil - does he deal? <br />At last he stands and grins, Ich bin der Pfaffe! <br />The mob cheers loudly, welcome, holy Spiel! <br /> <br />A bolt of lightning strikes and sets alight <br />his Pappenhaus, up goes a puff of smoke, <br />he scrambles, letting go of his black Pfaffenkleid <br />which burns, he marks a cross into the bark of the old oak <br /> <br />to please his God, enlist his endless grace <br />yet schwarze Finger paint a symbol of his past <br />onto his flushed and panic-stricken face <br />when God himself presents a mirror and at last <br />he sees the swastika and then the klein-SS <br />to save the day and thus himself, he shouts Gott Bless.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/der-pfaffe/
