Zonnett

Sonnet.

My lover once danced in fields of roses,
Yet now the Red rose has turned into blood;
My lover freed me as the Jews were by Moses,
Yet now I am lost in the dirt and the mud.

For her life was shed like a tear in the rain,
A number in Hitler's bloodthirsty war,
And I am here vainly trying to gain
A foot or an inch, while avoiding deaths door.

Looking around, to the blackness I'm in,
The faces of men, and their Smokey breath,
I think of my love, and wonder what sin
I must have committed to deserve her death.

Yet question my conscience, that lies within
First ask it of death, and then speak of sin.