Author Information
Auschwitz
The sun on high
Pales the sky
To a ripened blue
To a ripened all
And bashful do the winds but shudder
Like the glass of the quiet house
Encumbering
Every room
The sun on high
Pales the sky
Rules all it does see
Dries the infant puddles
Born of a matriarchal reign
The sun on high
Pales the darkened sky
