Years had passed
I see yonder,
Withered leaves on the ground
And dyed coffee envelopes
With an old Paris stamp that marks the date of 1934
It sits beside a dismal brown bitten apple
In a small abode
In the mammoth province of Branderburg Prussia
The rickety Tudor house cries in silence
The ghost of the past beseeched to be free
Cobwebs stifled my hands
In opening the forgone mail
Bundles that haven’t received by the receiver
“Let’s ride the rails”, he said
The young deep voice echoed in my head
My weak knees quivered
“We should get going” the two ladies in white scrubs held my arms
One step at time, we went in the wheels
That would take me back to this new place
I could never call home
The declination of the economy and the war broke us
But the memory didn’t die, it never did