I sang a song once, ’twas the joy of my heart. It carried a tear-drop to surface, on folk far apart. A plain song it was, without much buzz, but oil was hidden, ’twas oil of love. With one it brought laughter, with another, gave joy, some thought of heaven, I remembered my boy! My Mother, my Dad too, George and Merrilee, Bill Kraskie and Kevin, again I will see. I visited a place called Auschwitz, where they do a security check still. They must have guards, but not to hurt — no, they resist only liars and haters who try to erase this death-camp from historical record. But I was allowed to see the piles; of shoes, cups, prosthetic devises, eye-glasses, and a room of hair, (human). I saw a chamber, I saw an oven, a chimney; I saw names and faces, pictures of herded people. I read poems.…