Europe After 1945

Empty shells, ghosts of buildings

Rise above the blasted earth.

Memories and life itself

Are ground into the dust.

Whispering sunlight, cold and frightened,

Find its way through silent streets,

Empty but for wandering dogs

And children, sad, alone.

May God be thanked for these,

The pulse of that which dying lies.

Their laughter, hollow now and sparse,

Calls to life the crumbling brick.

Buds on twisted branches tell of spring

And bloom in tears.

But with new hope the still air

Stirs, shimmers, as smiles spring

From broken, weeping hearts and souls,

Once empty and entombed.

Life again begins to swell,

Not with song, but quiet prayer.

No sobbing, but thankful tears.

No music, but the children

Find their way again where men

And women fear to tread.