I ask what is is now We know them for
Their revolution, maybe—suicide
Corrupted minds (from which We love to hide)
The winters that lay bare their iron shore
The mysteries they've played to Us in war
(The Enemy that fought twice by Our side)
Their Terrible great villain We deride
(Who fell like all in fifteen eighty-four)
The pages with these sullied stories lined
Are like many a Father's fickle lad
Where frontiers are both muddied and defined
Where kiss the Berlin Wall and Stalingrad
With right and wrong impossibly entwined,
Small wonder long we ponder what we had.