For Miklós Radnóti Poem by Paul Hartal

Your verse is so magical,
Written so well,
I still adore its music
And drink from its well.
After the war your town
Gave my grammar school
The honour of your name,
Yet history is cruel
It ignored your fame.
Your woman waited years
For your return in vain
And you dreamt she stood
At the russet hedge again.
And like in the old days,
You wished to marvel
On her leg above the ankle
At the delicate blue vein.
My teacher told me
That buried underground
Your notebook of poems
In a mass grave was found.
The fascists who shot you
At war’s end in the head
Did not know that you were
The greatest living poet
In your beloved land.
Had they known it
Oh, they would have been glad
To hang you instead.