IN AN HOUR OF HOPE

In an hour of hope
around a circle of melody

you again believed
in Anne Frank's goodness

until you read the morning
papers without the naive

nature of a child
doomed by racial hatred

to die young
among the engraved sickness

tattooed on the arms
of memory

without time to touch
the tree of life

somewhere off the road
the mirror of her room

remains amid Hollywood
stars now turned lemony

in the coats of many colors
around crippled Joseph's pit

by his Dutch uncle
who turned away.