By the flowerbed Dad and I would talk
In 1952 he still could walk
We spent the afternoon in Willows Park
At least there were some sparrows if not larks.
He wore a jacket made of thinning tweed
He felt cold in summer hence the need
He smoked cheap cigarettes I love their smell
Though they killed you Daddy I know well.
I did not understand that God was frail
I prayed for you but all to no avail.
The Jews in Auschwitz must have prayed at first
Then singing Kaddish stumbled to their deaths
God cannot be judged though humans can
Each Jew was a real person like I am
Every living person is another world
In its Imagination Europe failed
But could Daddy have been saved for ten more years?
Does even the best neighbour really care?
Few will help us mourn the ones we lost
Their feeble hearts just cannot bear the cost
Am I a saint myself for I am frail
Hiding from the lightning and the hail