Tennis Courts

Wild flowers and weeds
Grow in the tennis courts
Of the Vincent Continis,
Their gardens overgrown,
Their house in ruins,
This old, noble family,
Who lived here once
In style and splendor,
Burned in the ovens
Of Auschwitz,
But sometimes
A lonely traveler
Listening to the wind
Rustling in the trees
Can hear the sounds
Of laughter and music
Of a lost generation,
A ghostly presence
Of a bygone world
Haunting
The old gardens...

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2007 Alfred Charasz
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