This is a dark pastime,
Holding back the dogs,
They tussle for your body
And want to devour it.
They have already
Bitten off your sister's feet
And your little dead son
Almost torn to pieces.
You lie in frost so new and white,
Your body appears living,
I shovel in the winter ice
Single-handedly your grave.
But tomorrow in a mass grave
Must you rest with many others,
I would come gladly down to you
Instead of wandering away from here.
JewishGen, Inc. makes no representations regarding the accuracy of
the translation. The reader may wish to refer to the original material
JewishGen is not responsible for inaccuracies or omissions in the original work and cannot rewrite or edit the text to correct inaccuracies and/or omissions.
Our mission is to produce a translation of the original work and we cannot verify the accuracy of statements or alter facts cited.
History of Jews in Bukowina Yizkor Book Project JewishGen Home Page
Copyright © 1999-2022 by JewishGen, Inc.
Updated 16 Feb 2007 by MGH