Tempestuous sky's so cold and dark,
where no bird flies save lonely lark,
'mongst the shadows, where coldness spreads,
stand sepia shapes of wooden sheds.
Oh whispering wind, what can you tell
of a life of terror and tormented hell
or torrid groans of sleepless souls
under public signs, nailed to poles.
Breath stained glass surrounds a child's shoe
an exhibit in a holocaust zoo.
Silenced bones can speak no guile
'mongst blackened ruins of brick and tile.
These broken spirits now must yield
to unmarked graves in an open field,
''O death where is thy sting ?''
'tis in the voice of these who cannot sing
and when we remember alone in the dark,
think of this place and the lonely lark.
© H V Swan
Written a few years ago as an immediate response to my visit to Auschwitz concentration camp in Poland.