She watched the sunbaked plain, as the sun began to set,
In summer ’39, a day she would never forget.
Her tender eyes narrowed and she clenched her callused hand,
At the people who had no respect, for her beautiful prized land.
The ghostly smoke came first, rising into the sky,
Clawing at living creatures that happened to be near by.
Pale of water in hand, on top of an ebony steed,
she raced towards hell, as her land began to bleed.
The devil’s hands lashed, diminishing anything in sight,
The wide sky shuddered, killing the peaceful night.
She raced down the hill, and saw the opening was nigh,
determination growing, until she heard a cry.
A terrified child, a sea of flames that burned,
Whimpering for help, but no one seemed concerned.
She turned on her stallion, no question in her choice,
And darted towards the trees, where she’d heard the voice.
She galloped towards the fearful child, suffering from the blaze,
Saving him from the torment of the bright and fiery maze.
And even though she became the hero of that night,
her prized land was lost, replaced with an horrendous sight.
An eerie, charcoal forest, blackened country ground,
and the land that usually spoke to her, was making no sound.
Her heart throbbed in dismay at what the devil had done,
In summer ’39, the day that hell had won.