When I was five, I knew Hungarians were good
and Russians bad: my entry into politics.
How much the world has changed since 1956!
Now Russia spills Ukrainian, not Hungarian, blood.

A lifetime since the tanks rolled into Budapest
my childish certainty is changed to adult rage
that we allow a gangster to command the stage.
He tests our resolution, and we fail the test.

Our leaders, masters of diplomacy, explain:
‘We’re doing all we can. And here’s your chance to see
how freedom’s plucky underdog fights tyranny
with one hand tied behind her back. Come on, Ukraine!’