Poem:

While passing through the aisles of time,

One might hear the cries of death,

Sense the terror of a clime

Of evil with its poisonous breath.

One might pause to hear the groaning

From the chambers of the devil;

Listen to the sounds of mourning

Within furnaces of evil;

Listen to the children screaming

In the throes of quick surrender

To Gestapos cruel, teeming,

Wrenching them from arms so tender!

In the corridors of history

Echoes keep resounding, grim,

One might contemplate the mystery

Of Enlightenment so dim!.

Lingering there among the ashes,

Spirits hover in the wind

With the blood that never washes

Evil deeds years left behind.