Daughter Of Bavaria

She came into the world in nineteen thirty-two,
where Bavarian hills held morning’s blue,
on a farm where the rooster split the dawn,
and eight young voices carried on.

There were hands for bread and hands for hay,
boots by the door at the close of day,
a table crowded, a kitchen warm,
and children growing through weather and storm.

Beyond the fields, a darkness spread,
with flags and fear and words of dread;
but in that house, where conscience stayed,
her family would not bow, nor be swayed.

They taught her truth in quiet ways,
not all resistance wears banners or praise;
sometimes it lives in a lowered voice,
in a stubborn heart, in a hidden choice.

She learned from soil, from hunger, from grace,
from winter’s bite and her mother’s face,
from brothers and sisters, from chores begun,
from praying for peace beneath a troubled sun.

And though the years have crossed the sea,
her courage became a legacy:
a farm girl’s strength, a family’s stand,
Bavaria’s child with an open hand.

So let her story ring like a warning bell—
we have seen how silence opens hell;
as fascism rises in our own USA,
the world must wake, resist, and turn it away.