Born: Port Hope, Ontario May 16, 1895
Died: Wolfville, Nova Scotia February 26, 1977
Aleksandra's Note: Canadian Watson Kirkconnell was an incredibly prolific man. Among the hats he wore were that of professor, university administrator (President of Acadia University 1948-64), poet, translator proficient in many languages, including Hungarian, Ukranian, Russian, Serbo-Croatian, and others (it has been said that he was a "master of more than 50 languages and dialects"!), social commentator, literary critic, scholar, Baptist lay leader, and repeatedly a nominee for the Nobel Prize.
My sincere gratitude goes out to Mr. Michael Petrovich in Canada for sharing this passionate and honest historical poem about General Draza Mihailovich, written by Watson Kirkconnell in 1946, that gives new meaning to "poetic justice" as it serves as both a proper tribute and a condemnation.
DRAZA DIES A MARTYR
By Watson Kirkconnell
The cheeks of every honest manAre wet with tears today;
And everyone, at murder done,
For justice kneels to pray.
The evil deed that Tito did
Smells foul to honest men;
The world will weep at Draza's death
Till freedom comes again.
Tito a triple traitor was,
A life-long cheat and knave,
Who sought through Soviet tyranny
To make his land a slave.
While Stalin kissed with Hitler
Tito kissed Hitler too,
And blessed the bloody Nazi band
That raped and sacked his native land.
The Serbs and Draza made a stand
But Tito was untrue.
And when the Soviets joined the war
And Tito turned to kill
He fought not for his country-folk
But fought for Stalin still.
When Draza won a victory,
Black Tito claimed the credit.
A radio on Russian soil
In noisy clamor said it.
In vicious folly the Allies
Then bowed to Stalin's orders,
And gave to Tito countless guns
To join the fight on Hitler's Huns;
But Tito murdered Serbia's sons,
Who guarded Serbia's borders.
Cold Stalin's orders must be served;
The Serbs must not be free:
Convicted by a mighty lie,
Draza Mihailovich must die
Who stands for liberty.
Five hundred Yankee airmen
Give Tito back the lie;
They know the truth of Draza
Whom Tito dooms to die.
But Tito will not hear them speak;
Foul murder is his aim;
Three of his bloody generals
Conclude a court of shame.
And as the summer sunshine dawns
Upon white Belgrade town,
The guns of murdering Communists
Shoot noble Draza down.
At last the Yanks and English see
No deed is on the level
That sells the saints and heroes out
To please a bloody devil.
The lying clamors of their press
And radio have ceased,
And men and nations now begin
To see the folly and the sin
Of hoping by foul means to win
The friendship of a beast.
Pale Churchill gnaws his black cigar
To hear of Draza's doom;
The haggard ghost of Roosevelt
Is restless in the tomb;
But in the reeking Kremlin
Where bloody Stalin stands,
The tyrant laughs in bloody glee
And cringing servants shrink to see
Fresh blood upon his hands.
But all shall speak of Draza,
And all shall tell his worth,
Long after bloody autocrats
Have vanished from the earth.
For through all lands and nations
His name shall glorious be
When, the comfort of all souls,
Serbs, Balts, Ukrainians and Poles ---
And Russians -- shall be free.
Then let us pray for Draza,
That he with God may dwell,
His tortures done, his warfare o'ver,
Among the saints for evermore.
While Tito rots in hell.
If you would like to get in touch with me, Aleksandra, please feel free to contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org