A short poem based on the Canada warehouses and those who worked there

It piled up so high when it was unpacked.

Huge piles of clothes and valuables and toys.

Everything needed to start a new life,

A good life.

But they were wrong, it’s not better here.

It’s a hundred, a thousand times worse.

Stuck, imprisoned, dying.

And all the time not knowing, never knowing,

What happened to those you love.


We’re lucky here,

Out a Canada.

We can take food we find,

Replace our shoes, try and find a way to survive.

The others, they have it worse.

They work and they fall ill,

Too little food, not enough warmth.

Too little strength and then,

The blackness of death is a welcome blanket,

Taking away the pain.


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