'Twas the night before Barbarossa, when all through Poland

Not a slav was stirring, not even a partisan;

The panzercorps were idling by the border with care,

In hopes that St. Rommel soon would be there;

The honorable Wehrmacht officers were nestled all snug in their feldgrau;

While visions of racial purification danced in their heads;

And feldwebel in in his einheitsmütze, and I in my stahlhelm,

Had just settled our brains for a long operational nap,

When out on the parade ground there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen jews,

Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a miniature Tiger I and eight tiny feldmarshals,

With a little old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment he must be St. Rommel.

More rapid than the blitz his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

Now, Goring! Now, Keitel! Now, Bock and von Kluge!

On, Manstein! On, Paulus! On, Model and Richthofen!

To the border of Russia, to the walls of Moscow!

Now blitz away, blitz away, blitz away all!

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with any breakdown, they blamed it on spies;

So straight through the border the panzers they flew

With the tank full of orders to follow, and St. Rommel too—

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The rumbling and clanking of each little tread.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Rommel came with a bound.

He was dressed all in black hugo boss leather, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all immaculate without a trace of blood;

A bundle of orders he had flung on his the back,

And he looked like a superb aryan specimen just opening his pack.

His eyes—how blue! He had no dimples because those are Asiatic!

His cheeks were the proper Aryan shape, his nose like a cherry, and not at all Jewish!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a Bf-109,

And his cleanshaven chin jutted like the prow of the Bismarck;

The stump of a 8.8cm KwK 38 he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had an Aryan eyes and his hugo boss uniform,

That glittered when he laughed, like a bowl full of gold teeth.

He was perfect in every way, an honorable wehrmact officer,

And I performed the Hitlergruß when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of an eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know that everything was fine, everybody was just following orders!

He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,

And blitzed straight to Moscow, then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger on the side of his nose,

And giving a nod, straight to Leningrad he drove!

He sprang to his panzer, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the ash from the disposal of people who were starved to death by the blatantly illegal bombing of the so-called allies,

But I heard him exclaim, era he drove out of sight,

"Merry Barbarossa to all, and to all a good night!"