Meanwhile, we go about our daily tasks;
Fearful, anxious, we wear smiling masks.
Everything will be okay in the night?
The wannabe dictator sees only might.
While deep inside he cries
Love me, just me, but in such, the self shrivels and dies.
What went wrong, little boy,
Did someone steal your favorite toy?
Or was it much, much worse —
Upon you, some dark evil well-rehearsed?
And yet, and yet, seeing some of myself as I look in the eye.
Fortunate, but for the grace of God, there go I.
Thank you, Mr. Auden. Yes,
May we, for justice and peace, keep the flame alive.

*in homage to W.H. Auden for September 1, 1939
https://poets.org/poem/september-1-1939.