A lonely house sits up on a hill,
memories, like ghosts, linger there still.
A family was forced against their will,
to leave their little house up on the hill.
Pushed on to boxcars, the air was still.
Winter was close, they all felt a chill.
Nazi guards knew the aim was to kill,
most felt nothing, some got a thrill.
Ordered they were, every inch to fill.
The air rank with sweat, their space was nil.
Belongings were taken, a bitter pill.
Loved ones pulled apart, their screams were shrill.
The healthy separated from those who were ill.
Those fortunate enough to have a skill,
were put to work quick and labored until,
they were too sick or old and were sent to the kill.
Into the "showers" to wait until,
the gas was released, and soon all was still.
Bright flowers planted at the camps were a shill,
to outsiders looking, it denoted good will.
Hitler's Nazi party continued to kill,
took innocent lives away until,
an allied force with a stronger will,
set them all free, we remember it still.
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