Small World Poem by Ima Ryma

It was the end of World War II.
I, a G.I., in Germany
Was walking down an avenue.
A young German girl came toward me.
We passed and she returned my smile.
I turned and asked her if she would
Like an orange that I'd kept awhile.
Her first orange. I felt so good.
Years later at my plant in Maine,
A sales rep brought her grandma in.
From Germany, she did explain.
We shared stories of what had been.

A grandma now, but it was she
Who got her first orange from me.