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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