Schwerin

A noble house, famed,was founded by a Slav lordwho was defeated and slainby a swift Saxon sword: House Mecklenburg rosefrom Niklot’s nadir on the plainsto build a fortress, imposedon his old lands once again from the wreck of his pastrose the line of Prussian kings,his legacy flowed at lastinto the Kaisers’ riveted iron ring — I stand at the gateof the noble house’s old house,no longer does its fatesuch hot passions arouse. And there, far up, high,in the arc of an arch,forgotten old Niklot sighs,holds his spear of stiff larch on the back of his steed:a copper-green statuethat bears witness to the needof the house it’s attached to to stay in step with time.I turn and look awayto walk far from this shrineto his silent decay.