To whom do you turn
To whom do you plead
From mouths hunger impaired
To whom do you turn
To whom do you plead
Frail words to freezing air
How far do the cries carry
When famine collects the kin
High, mute as statues
Piled are corpses thin
Familiars forsaken
Left in from of beast
Old wise one perished
To the tracks of deceased
How long does one last
Tearing wind in lungs
At hope’s closing gate
Ill year still young
How to silent the calls
Of chill and shivers
Through burial ground
From the dark
Beyond the river
How to keep away
Souls of the starved
Weak are the marks
On tall pines carved
Come the end of second year ill
Strangled with dread
Weaker grew the wretched folk
As mere graves were fed
No crops bear fields wet
Reign of fear, sacrilege
Famished were all
Apart from pestilence
None survived
Last winter
None survived
Last winter’s siege