Final Hour

Final Hour

Katie Gayton
(Worcester)

 

We march on through

The dreary den

Of which we Jews lie

Through men of age

And children small

The Star of David

Cries.

 

We travel miles

Through the crowds

Of them with no Possessions

And then down to

The place of which

Will be our final

Hour.

 

The door is locked

There’s no way out

Their scraping at the door

One blow of gas

And silence waits

Me, us, we

The Jewish fall

 

 

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