Grandmother’s Throw on Scarves
Cold September on the Bench
And in the Camps Without Fuss
The Lads Put on Their Quilted Jackets
The Leaves Bustle and Swirl
The Rain Washes Away Everything That Was
And Our Years Are Forever
Safely Buried in the Zone
What Autumn Is Like in the Camps
Leaves Are Thrown onto the Forbidden
And I Scream, Scream at the Snoops