Vultures is a poem that makes me shiver. I've always wondered what I would have done, had I had the choice of whether to go along with Nazism, or to fight against it. I like to think I'd have fought, but I can't be sure. None of us can be sure until we come up against the real situations. It's like Not My Business - a man can ignore the wrongs being done as long as he has food on the table, or can take sweeties home for the children.
I think it's the choice of words that make it most chilling - the contrast betwen affection and despair, a charnel house or Belsen, and a roost, a nest, a home.