The French Mediterranean coast is 700 kilometers from North Africa, the potential gathering place for Anglo-American invasion forces, and has been fortified like a fortress since the occupation of all of France.
You’ve built the greatest fortifications
In all of Europe
And you‘ve been praising
Their colossal strength loudly for years.
The landing becomes thereby be impossible,
The ramparts are a strong bastion,
And all enemies fail miserably,
And certainly won’t get through.
You’ve used concrete galore
For a miraculous construction,
Of heights, breadths, thicknesses, lengths,
Calculated mathematically precisely
For every case,
However, not for your own downfall.
You raved about the wonderful
Mighty Atlantic Wall
Which had to withstand everything,
It was impregnably firmly joined,
It shielded the Atlantic coast,
But apparently, appearances deceived.
And also in the beautiful south of France,
You built a bastion,
And were very satisfied with it,
But already after an hour
The proud bulwark was broken through,
Today’s report shows,
This line also didn’t hold
What you promised yourself from it,
And again, another hope was lost,
And another illusion is gone,
In Leipzig, Pasewalk, and Köthen
There’s now a very subdued mood today.
One realizes: No wall will protect you anymore
And stop the storm of enemies,
Nothing will help you anymore.
Fate now takes its course.
Post-Editing: Nannie Braunstein-Beekman
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