Nine Eight Two Eight Eight,
We had a number not a name,
Treated like filthy animals,
Branded as being the same.

Pushed out of our homes by the Germans,
Sent to look upon our deaths,
Separated from our loved ones,
Killed off as though we were pests.

Being Jewish condemned us to misery,
Racism meant misunderstood,
They tried to end our religion,
By killing and shedding our blood.

Suitcases and spectacles were many,
Evidence where people had been,
But where had the people gone to,
They were nowhere to be seen.

We were given soup only to sustain us,
We starved within an inch of our lives,
We were separated from our families,
Never seeing our children or wives.

Never again should this tragedy happen,
Learn to live in love and harmony,
Should ever you feel hate for another,
Remember we are the same underneath.

(In honour of Leon Greenman, Auschwitz survivor, 98288)
By Beth Sutton