Little White Flowers

It looks like the photographs,

A tall wall made of brick.

You can't escape,

Soon you don't even try.

Many go,

Many never return.

Some don't even make the journey,

Some end their lives in torture.

The air stinks of gas,

You hear wailing of mothers,

Mothers who have just lost everything,

Husbands, children, friends, family.

A small girl in a floral dress looks around,

She is oblivious to the death around her.

Her attention is drawn to little white flowers,

The only gravestones of her fellow Jews,

The only gravestones for her mama and papa.

Years have gone by,

No more stench fills the air,

Only the sweet smell of wildflowers.

You have to listen closely,

Listen to hear the screams.

Screams of mothers,

Cries of little children,

Yells of fathers,

All being tortured

All being taken away from the ones they loved.

Auschwitz stands quiet,

No trains,

No people,

No Hitler.

But the small girl in the floral dress still stares at her little white flowers,

Eventually she bends down and picks one,

Blowing away with it in the wind.

They will not be forgotten,

The 6 million that were killed.

They will be remembered.