the forgotten remembered

The Forgotten Remembered

It’s so long ago I’m not sure whether it was a dream,
it happened at quiet a corner of a land where, although
occupied by the enemy, war’s cruelty hadn’t reached
yet. There was a prison camp nearby, Russians I think,
guards let me feed them scraps of food as they looked
benignly on at this scene of sweet innocence.
A cold early morning many shots had been fired but
no one knew why and after dinner I went to feed
prisoners leftovers; the camp’s gate was open and they
lay on the ground, some with eyes open, yet unseeing
and there was blood in the snow. I must have been there
long time it began snowing again and flakes of gentle
crystal covered their faces and I wondered why.
A giant soldier with his rifle slung across his massive
shoulder, came, took me by the hand and led me back
to the farm; whispering voices, they put me at the front
of the log fire, I was very cold, everyone was so kind
that I began crying gave me hot, sweet cocoa to drink.