How wonderful the European stars must look
strung along the wire strands of border fences
or those butterflies, the endless coils of razor wire.
One might, upon seeing them, be reminded of staves
of music: Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms
or lines of text: Shakespeare, Dante, Cervantes,
or how civilisation was aghast seeing those photographs:
the skeletal faces of the innocent behind Auschwitz fences;
the horror that such could happen in our own time.
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