It had always been the three of them since long ago,
From the depths of their memories like melting snow,
They remember the imprint of friendship at the start,
But there was no proof left now but for a tender heart.
By the wild woods where the cowslips and daisies sprout,
The children play and dance and merrily shout,
Two young boys and a stubborn tom-boy of a girl,
Caught in the rapture of innocent fun and social whirl.
They loved one another that much was clearly true,
And they never once considered the term Nazi or Jew,
It was only ever their preoccupation to prove to each,
That the friendship they shared was always in reach.
The branches of the old oak became their hideaway,
Stopping to recount daring tales each and every day,
Whilst laughing and joking about good times and bad,
They wept tears of joy for being so carefree and glad.
The scent of bluebells in Spring one memorable year,
Was all she remembered as with heavy heart and a tear,
She was packed off to Amsterdam for safety's sake,
And her loss was enough to cause friendship to break.
Yet the boys still met up and drank a toast to her,
Each night as the stars were out and breezes stir,
They lay there looking up at the dark sky above,
Hoping the clouds would carry to her their love.
A blond haired youth he seemed to idly drift along,
He marched to their tune but it was not his song,
And his dark friend whose soul touched him somehow,
Should never be punished for the star he wore now.
A tear ran down his face for the guilt and the shame,
He was being pressured and it was fear to blame,
His hand reached out in the dark and closed tight,
Bonded in love they were both determined to fight.
But even now the ties that bound them to each other,
Are causing an unseen rift between him and his brother,
For family they were despite having no shared blood,
Yet how can they continue even if indeed they could.
For those dark eyes saw all the hatred and disgust,
He heard their poisoned words and do what he must,
Survival was as important as his honour and pride,
Now the boundaries were blurring of who's on his side.
Though they held hands and each cried privately,
Words went unsaid and neither could truly see,
That three hearts were still beating with one notion,
Whether together or apart they held fast to their devotion.
The tanks of cold steel bulldozed their way over all,
Where once flowers had yielded now only bodies fall,
And yet his stomach no longer tied itself up in knots,
His mind was numb with the horror and his soul rots.
The fair tresses are now caked in sweat and worse,
The hopes for an end to the madness are now his curse,
For he cannot see when all this horror will be through,
He does what he can but there seems little he is able to do.
Working along the border he knows all about patrol,
Often he feels so detached as if taking an evening stroll,
But there is no denying the grim reality when bullets fly,
For he knows another victim falls and is left to die.
His own shots are wide of the mark or else just grazes,
The men in his unit are suspicious only in phases,
He has always been good at making them see what he will,
Though often the rumour is that he is afraid to kill.
His is a dangerous road and not easily taken,
There are spies everywhere and you can be mistaken,
He hears them escaping sometimes cowering and frightened,
And walks away as if unaware hoping their faces brightened.
Yet often they are too scared to run or too ill to move fast,
They watch him as he stands there until he has passed,
Then they make their break no doubt expecting to be caught,
But he has never forgotten the compassion he was taught.
When the stench of death fills his senses and he waivers,
It is his childhood memories he plucks and savours,
Like a flower in his lapel he carries them as a beacon of hope,
Giving him courage to go on and try somehow to cope.
A sound of running feet and splashing through the mud,
Came towards him and expecting at last the fatal thud,
As an object pierces his skull or he is left there to die,
He turns to face his attacker and meet him eye to eye.
There was an unspoken language as each exchanged looks,
It cannot be learned by the scholars from their books,
Like the electrical charge when lightning is released,
Here too Nature's own force is the same for man or beast.
Who can say which one of them conceded just a little,
The fabric of their world was so very sad and brittle,
People were running for fear a war would engulf them,
Whilst others were doing their best the exodus to stem.
Love knows no boundaries and has no set rules,
It can turn the wisest men to awkward fools,
Or else bring down the strong and raise up the weak,
So in that moment between them they did not speak.
It was just two pairs of eyes that met then turned,
The blue of the perfect Aryan male deeply yearned,
And the defiant brown of the dark and brooding Jew,
Could not deny that he was ensnared by love too.
If common sense had prevailed some would have said,
They could have stopped their hearts by using their head,
But who amongst us can deny we aren't slaves to emotion,
Carried on the tides of fate as natural as the rising sun.
Yet here was moonlight bathing them both in its glow,
Each wanting to let the warmth of their passion grow,
Both yearning to make the first move but unsure of how,
Clumsy and awkward yet still exhilarating somehow.
And the years fell away and they were children again,
But each could see the ravages of war and all the pain,
Then in the dark like a blinding ray of unconditional love,
Two hands met tightly as tears from the skies fell from above...