Gerda

Vienna in the spring

Nineteen thirty-seven

The rustle of leaves, the sounds of cafes

It was heaven

And Gerda was 20 years old, newly married

She had to leave it all

And go

With danger behind her

And the unknown ahead

New York was a world of enchantment

A promise of better just over the sea

To the tired and the poor who, like Gerda,

Huddled in masses and yearned to be free

It’s nearly a hundred years on

And I hear the war drumming

I look at my countrymen

At what we’re becoming

And I know in my heart that if Gerda could see it

She’d be dismayed

To recognize clearly

The ghosts she had fled from

Inside her new home

No more is the world of enchantment

Now we are the dangerous place

There’s families in peril, their home is a war zone

We’re slamming the door in their face

Vienna in the spring

Nineteen thirty-seven