by Nick Gisburne
A curtain hides a weakness in the wall,
And every night we shuffle out the bricks,
To pull another child, however small,
To safety, from a world we cannot fix.
Each mad, malicious ruling from the state
Insists we treat ‘outsiders’ with contempt.
“Get out,” they’re told, “the wagons will not wait.
But leave your children. Children are exempt.”
The mothers, fathers, know they cannot leave,
But sealed inside the ghetto they will die.
Yet some of us persuade them to believe
There is a chance, a final trick to try.
They pass their precious infants through the wall,
To hide, with us, until the fascists fall.
