The hearth is cold, the sun has set,
The makeshift roof flutters in the breeze,
The pots are empty, not a morsel to eat,
A piteous wail, raises her to her feet-
She looks at her bundle of hope
Crying out of hunger, which she so much longs to do-
For all the days of toil and sweat
And nights of brutal fate
And dreams that lay shattered
And hopes that have gone away
She knows that those tears
Can be just by one way stopped
She drifts away into a lullaby,
And the crying soon did cease,
She stops for she knows it is over:
A soul had been saved from further misery…