Poetry Sunday: Siege

In 2005, I took a 15-day break from soldiering in Iraq to tour Germany with my wife. She flew into Frankfurt and met me there. We then took a train to Berlin and spent a day or two there before moving on to Hamburg. From Hamburg we went Cologne. Following the Rhine, we moved south to Heidelberg before making our way to Bavaria. We wrapped up our tour by dropping in on Augsburg and visiting Neuschwanstein Castle, and, finally, Rothenburg ob ter Tauber.

Image from Pixabay.

Rothenburg and Neuschwanstein are easily the highlight of our trip together. This medieval town has quite a history. We enjoyed the Night Watchman's Tour, but the Medieval Crime and Punishment Museum cut pieces of our hearts out. This tiny town has a lot of character.

After returning home, I was inspired to write the following poem, titled "Siege." Of course, you have to understand a little bit more about its history, which involves a Catholic siege during the Thirty Years' War and a U.S. bombing operation during World War II. It's amazing that the little town is still standing, but there it is. And now I give you "Siege," my tribute to one of the most interesting small towns in the world.

Siege

For Rothenburg ob der Tauber

For centuries you held the highest honor,
Avoided penetration. You erected walls
To protect you, walls which towered
Over your youth like umbrage
For lost souls. Then, heaven and hell
Be damned, you lost your life’s work
In a single day. The Hour Song sung
And the trading for the day almost done,
You settled in for the night. Not a grain
Of salt was wasted on your streets.
Your ramparts kept it hidden
And your children fed. Amazing
How so much history can change
In a fleeting moment. Your dire distress
In the day of your defense cast a powder
Of dry doubt upon your great white hope.
Having felt betrayed, you surrendered
And fell into burning despair, hungering
All the while for the end. It eluded you.
But today, having slept past your prime,
You stand like a monument to your defeat,
Your wrinkled old face reflecting years
Of weather and war and the whole world
Knows that, were it not for trepidation,
Endurance, gall, you would not be alive
To witness your own grand return
To yourself and that quiet place
Of exquisite repose.

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