History of Sorts

For Anne and Margot Frank

In secret rooms where daylight thinned,
Two sisters lived, two hearts were pinned
To dreams too vast for walls to bind—
They wrote, they watched, they stayed behind.

Margot, firstborn, quiet flame,
A scholar’s grace, a whispered name.
With pages neat and eyes downcast,
She traced her prayers, she held them fast.
A life of duty, still and wide,
She bore her grief with silent pride.

And Anne, the fire, fierce and bright,
Who danced with ink beneath the night.
Her words a lantern in the gloom,
She lit with voice that breathed through doom.
In cramped despair, her spirit flew,
In every line, the world she drew.

Together in that shadowed space,
They shared one fate, one last embrace.
A sister’s glance, a softened sigh,
A hope that lived though time ran dry.
Two souls with years they never knew,
Two stars eclipsed too soon, too true.

No monument of stone or steel
Could shape the loss the world must feel.
But in their names, the silence breaks,
The past awakes, the future shakes.
In every child with pen in hand,
In every dream we dare to stand.

O daughters of the hidden song,
Who suffered brief, who echo long—
Though darkness tried to claim your light,
You rise in pages, bold and right.
You are the voice the world must keep:
The ones who woke while others sleep.