Ein Zarte Blumchen

Ein zarte Blumche,
A delicate little flower,
Bloom bobbing gently in a silent breeze
A frail little visage of peaceful times long passed
Pale crimson is the flower, swaying softly on the wind
As the zarte Blumchen, watching a barren gray war,
Sees the others around him slowly taken
Higher, to a shining heaven
Slowly being picked by the hand of a Higher Being,
Our God, the Creator
Realizing only that most beautiful blooms are chosen
As the sunlight fades, a gentle tug
Softer than the breeze
The slender flower pulled gently from the Earth,
Chosen by his Lord
Der rote Adler watches on as the delicate little flower
Leaves . . .