Karl

He showed up in Fifty, a little bit gaunt,

  none of us knew what memories did haunt.

We couldn’t know the hell he’d been through,

  Of his tale of woe, he gave not a clue,

Of our language, he knew not a word,

  and when he spoke, it was German we heard.

We might have fussed, when he boarded the bus,

  sometimes we cussed, ‘cuz he wasn’t like us.

With nowhere to hide, he took it in stride,

  it can’t be denied, that he always tried.

To thwart the wrong, he had to be strong,

  it didn’t take long, ‘til he would belong.

A friend to us all, he always stood tall,

  in things big and small, he carried the ball.

An orphan no more, a survivor of war,

  he came to our shore, and rose to the fore.

LDT January 28, ‘22

This poem is dedicated to the children of war.

It was inspired by my childhood friend Karl Waitschies.

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Karl went on to become a successful farmer, community leader and Montana state legislator. This story about visiting his wife offers a glimpse into his character. Couple married for 55 years reunites for first hug since start of pandemic (nbcnews.com)