Hans was here last Tuesday
He came in to talk with me
He spoke about his mother
Back on the farm in Germany
I saw a tear as he talked of home
And sipped his warm, weak tea.
He told of his life before the hate
And the madness caught alight
How as a bewildered sixteen-year-old
He was called from the farm to fight
After a while he left for the cliffs
Of Torteval last Tuesday night.
Early on Wednesday morning
I heard the English bombers fly
I heard their deadly discharge
Hit the cliffs, and all the sky
Was bright with those fatal flashes
Which ask not "Who?" or "Why?"
Hans was here last Tuesday
Where is his spirit now ?
I hope his gentle country soul
Is back behind his plough
Back on his farm in a peaceful world
Where the war can't touch him now.
Tony Gardner
