I once passed a little village

Where locals met and chatted in the square;

Some, most withdrawn, played cards and smoked.

The place was poor but free from fear or care.

 

When required, the work was done;

Winters were hard but held a certain charm.

Then all too soon the tanks rolled in;

There was no time to ring out the alarm.

 

Now, though the buildings are long gone,

And those who lived here will have no more say,

A whiff of atmosphere remains

Of times which armies could not sweep away.