Ballad about a Jewish Artist
Though never able to draw,
Mary loved art.
Her mother used to draw for her,
with all her heart.
One day, Mary met a boy,
through a tall gate.
Clad in rags, he was sketching,
his eyes full of hate.
“What do you draw with such passion?”
“A portrait of my mother.”
“So then where would she be?”
“Dead like many others.”
Mary continued to visit the boy,
imploring him to draw.
No doubt his drawings were of utmost beauty,
blessing those who saw.
But how emaciated he was,
should Mary care for him.
How cruel the Nazi beasts were,
beating his every limb!
One day, Mary saw more than art,
as she met his eyes.
And she knew she loved him, but was
interrupted by loud cries.
One day, the boy was not there;
she called his name in vain.
Thus she realized the deadly truth,
overcome with endless pain.
-Justin Y.
Poetry
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