In Belzec Concentration Camp

His Grandparents were Romani people from his maternal side In Countries of Eastern Europe they travelled far and wide But the most basic human right their right to life of them even denied In Belzec Concentration Camp where a million people died. I never knew my maternal Grandparents with sadness he recall Due to circumstance of birth and their way of life misfortune them did befall My gift of music such a marvellous gift to them I feel I owe In Belzec Concentration Camp they were murdered decades ago. A tall and handsome man in his early thirties with wavy raven hair With the marvellous gift of music a great accordion player In silence we sat and drank our beer as we listened to him play The beautiful old gipsy tunes from Countries far away. That all things do come to an end in some cases a lie In Belzec Concentration Camp the gipsy music did not die But that the gift of music does live on should not come as a surprise Something that those who commit crimes against humanity seem to fail to realize. He played at the pub on passing through him I never more may see But the beauty of his music will live in my memory His maternal Grandparents who died at Belzec their lives were not in vain Their music in their Grandchild has come to life again.