The Inner Greatness of a Prisoner

A young woman knew that she would die in the next few days. But when I talked to her she was cheerful in spite of this knowledge. She said, This tree here is the only friend I have in my loneliness. Through that window she could see just one branch of a chestnut tree and on the branch were two blossoms. A prisoner could not know how long his term of imprisonment would be. He had been given no date for his release. In our camp it was pointless even to talk about it. It may sound as if I had invented it, but to me it seems like a poem.