and in the cold journey in that sealed railway car
and the scribblings scratched on the inside carriage of it
he would not give up his tallit
nor the tzitzits swinging like tassels for joy about his person
and he would not give them up
they kept him warm in the morning of his life
and he would not give them up
dont you know one day
they will remember all of us
but they will not count us like numbers in the Bible
nor shall they dare
Flynnpoetry 