(A Holocaust Poem)

on those dusty days absent of clouds
whenstench matched sight, rotting and bleak
they were piled to the sky, the windbe their shroud
the strong and the proud lie naked and streaked
with bloodfrom their hearts and tears from their soul
now flomingled down and chilled inthe cold
on those smoldering nights when flames licked the sky
ashes metwith stars to the horrific sound
of smoke from their flesh that sent out theircries
as the dust was sent spinning, the wind be their shroud
to blanketthe heart-wrenching shame in their eyes
and restore them the pride that wasripped from their lives
on this newly born morning of gold and ofgreen
when the deeds of destruction have long since been done
their eyesare yet scarring from what they have seen
and a pale sheet of gray still loomso'er the sun
the wind be their shroud, these ill-fortuned souls
may theirfreedom now ring as the ashes grow cold