(Am I giving too much credit to the German people?)
They’ve taken them to Poland, our neighbours, Ruth and Ben;
I don’t suppose we’re likely to set eyes on them again;
I don’t know why they left abruptly in the dead of night
But luckily beforehand they had promised that they’d write;
They were good friends, the Eisensteins – their children played with ours;
It’s simply a decision that was made by higher powers.
They welcomed relocation to start their lives anew
In model Polish villages along with other Jews;
They’d seen the Party film reels and, like us, were most impressed –
The streets were clean and tidy and the residents well dressed;
Ben would be a carpenter, making children’s toys,
With gardening in the flower beds for all the girls and boys.
We have new neighbours now that they’ve moved in your house next door
He’s a Party member wounded in the Russian War.
I stopped a woman yesterday and said “Upon my soul
They’re the very likeness of Ruth’s coat and foxfur stole”.
Other residents I’ve spoke to think it impolite
The other Jews too don’t reply to letters that they write.
The move they’ve made’s the best for them – I’m sure their future’s bright,
But still I puzzle anxiously, “Why ever don’t they write?”
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