We Are Germans Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

We always need a portrait on the wall.
Without it any wall looks simply bare,
the living room, the kitchen and the hall
adorned by men of salt and pepper hair.

Now I could be the Kaiser
or young Adolf in suit,
some older and wiser,
even Mozart cum flute.

It's the curse of our nation
we must have on our walls,
as a bold decoration
not the portraits of dolls
but of those who were chosen
dressed in army attire,
with a smile that is frozen
but the eyes full of fire.

You ask why such traditions,
my reply be astute:
Let those men call the missions,
we are here to salute.