The girl in the pickelhaube hat
Wore the darkest of mascara
And a bob blacker than that.
Her legs were long and smooth,
Hands clasped at her knee
As she sat upon a stool for some quick photography.
Now, gone is the girl
And gone is old Berlin;
But her grand-niece has the pickelhaube,
And her easy smile, again.
for dverse Meeting The Bar--Imagism