The Windermere Children

The bus full of children edges towardsWindermere in a silent dark.There are no street lights but the driverUsed to driving even in the BlackoutEasily finds his way.But these children are still lost in a worldWhere fair has been slain and foul remains –And the light their nights have knownHas cut into the dark to search them out –Mark them as Jews fit only for death.

We watch the screen in an EnglandWhere starvation is a word in a dictionary,Not a chronic pain beyond relief – beyond God -And ask is a man no better than a mad dogWhen left to do what he wills?But what, I wonder, happens to the bright daysOf the young Germans when their eyes dim?When they see before them their own kind -Children, but defiled - whose lives can onlyPoison their own with the past’s dark, evil vomit?