History of Sorts

Amid the wire and winter’s breath,
Where silence echoes the song of death,
A lone starling perched, dark and small,
Sang to the void that answered its call.

It fluttered near walls stained by grief,
Among the ruins, beyond belief,
Its wings beat fast against the grey,
A fleeting dance in a world of decay.

Above the barracks, cold and bare,
It found no joy, no solace there,
But still it sang, as starlings do,
A song of life where hope withdrew.

Its notes rose high, soft and clear,
A voice of defiance against the fear,
For in its song, though none could see,
Lived a fragment of forgotten beauty.

A fragile life amid the dead,
A starling’s cry where angels fled,
In Auschwitz’s shadow, harsh and stark,
It dared to sing against the dark.

And though the sky hung heavy and low,
The starling’s song refused to go,
It carried the weight of the world untold,
In a place where silence turned hearts cold.

For even there, where all seemed lost,
A starling flew, despite the cost.
Its wings, though frail, still found the air,
A final song in a world of despair.