Fire damaged china
from Dresden,
less than when, but
then
we were lucky
to escape.

All tarred with the same brush and
charred in the great rush,
we were
feathers that flew in the night.

The rings around Saturn and the
hot streets of Dresden became
fused,
a meaningless pattern that
no one would choose.

The graveyard is hard, cold
and doesn't lose any sleep,
only the china dolls weep
in Dresden.