History of Sorts

You could have been my teacher

You could have been the mother of my best friend

You could have been the midwife who helped deliver me

You could have been my dentist

You could have been a waitress in my favourite restaurant

You could have been a lady working in a shop who wraps my gifts

You could have been working behind the bar in my local pub

You could have been the first woman on the moon.

You could have been anything you wanted to

But some people thought you were not a valuable member of society

In fact they didn’t think you were anything.

They thought you were an impurity not worthy to live

Someone who would blemish their pure Aryan race.

You had to be removed from this world

And that they did on February 11 1944, in Auschwitz they killed you, aged 4.

You are Frieda Marianne Van Den Bergh from Nijmegen in the Netherlands.

You could have been my teacher but instead you are a star in heaven.

Looking down on us, sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a tear.

Your tears are the rain falling from the skies, for you are sad thinking of all of those 4 year olds who died with you, before you and after you.

Your tears are the rain falling from the skies, for you think you have been forgotten

But cry no more because you are remembered and loved in our hearts.