A pile of shoes
that walked their owners to their deaths
A stack of spectacles
that looked death in the eye
Shelves full of travel cases
that journeyed to the bitter end
Piles of hair
shorn off at the place of death
A length of railway track
that was the end of the line of life
An ominous gatehouse
and that cynical slogan
The Third Empire
lasted a dozen years
A dozen years it would take
to read the six million names of the Dead
Who are dead only
because in life they were deemed undesirable
A horror of circumstance
contrived and contributed to their end
We must never forget
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