A Conversation with Sophie Scholl

In the garden…

I invited you into my garden,

Through the rusted gate,

“Oh! Beautiful!” you exclaimed.

Glancing all around

The secret fenced ground,

“But, why — why are they all white?”

Plainly puzzled, you asked.

I answered,

“I grow these for the honest man –

Or woman, or child.

Those with small lives

Who believe that freedom,

Honor and truth

Are simple fairy tales

Of old written texts.

I will place one on their graves.

If you live small,

You die small.

Shhhhh!

The bogeyman is coming.

He can’t be stopped.

If you think you can hide

You’re eating an illusion.

You can’t curl yourself.

Wound tight and small

And believe no one

Will come to hunt you –

You’re wrong.”