March 1960

Hungary - 1956

Cry oh my heart, and let the moon laugh down;
A moon has no concern for living fears
Cry oh my heart and let the golden stars
Go spinning blithely down time-swallowed years.

I'll turn my face to feel the inviolate wind
And press my hand against a tree's treacherous bark;
And pray the clouds to swathe the shallow moon.
That I may hide my pain within the earth-bound dark.

Cry oh my heart, and let me not forget
What I have learned: to keep my haunted eyes
On this betrayed, this strangled, blood-soaked ground
Now lifted to the challenge of the racing skies.