The new day dawned in silent disbelief,
And all around lay rubble strewn and still,
The sky grew bigger in its greying grief,
The North wind shuddered, puzzled by the chill.
Human forms, not knowing they were dead,
Each in the pose of yesterday's last task,
As abstract as the shadows that they shed,
Each wearing that last moment like a mask,
Were pictures on a canvas hung to dry,
A passing semblance of the human race,
Like lots of "what's?" and never-answered "why?"
A generation lost without a trace.
He gazed upon the scene of genocide
And casting down his scythe, the reaper cried.
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