Camp 37

I am older now, my body creaks, but it remembers. As if it happened yesterday, Walking through Camp 37, east of Dresden Germany Dark, sorrowful overcast skies Hang like a wash of black ink Rusted razor wire, empty guard towers. Sentinels to times past, a reminder Snow crunches like ginger crackers under my feet. Forty cabins, dark weathered wood Allied containers Sweet pine scents the cold air My old bunk is bare Etched messages in wood, still there. Hidden stashes, cigarettes Freedom in dreams, shattered when you awake Silence, But my thoughts are partying, Tea time was the best, no cream Tattered Red Cross packages, tastes of home Hopes for tomorrow Final freedom. At Armageddon's end, Captors become captives Deliverance to tomorrow, I remember it well.