I walk beside the prisoners to the road.
Load on puffed load,
Their corpses, stacked like sodden wood,
Lie barred or galled with blood
It's difficult to write directly about the horrors of the concentration camps of the Nazi holocaust. The poem is powerful, but perhaps the poet is a little too close to events to create perfect poetry, and a few lines are poetically flat and too factual.
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10/27/2021 8:35:14 PM # 18.104.22.1688