August 30th, 2009 15:30 EST
A Poem: Eudora
Eudora danced with glee that night.
Her heart was not with us.
She could not see what we all knew
As fortunes crumbled in.
War soon would be upon the world
And deaths-head men would rule.
Our little dancing gypsy troupe
to scatter into never be . . .
And still Eudora danced,
the village men agog,
while Balalaika`s strummed the final chords
a dirge to our last song.
Then we all would lumber on
thru damp, misty, waxing rays
and such fearsome places would we go
as honored guests of Deutschland.
Dachau, Belsen, Auschwitz,
we saw unto the end,
except for Eudora,
who made her sullen way to Spain
and became the errant Queen of Pasa Doble