Alms

TO THE STARVING PEOPLE. “THERE is famine; bread, bread !” Who is sighing? On the threshold of my cottage, who is sighing? My love has gone out, with the flame in my fireplace. Ashes within me, ashes around me; oh, of what use is it To sow tears on ashes? I have nothing, nothing! To-day, with my last Small coin I bought poison; I shall mix poison within me. Come to-morrow to the graveyard, thou Hungry One, Through the storm, early, when around the village Wolves are still wandering. Come to-morrow! As bread, from my grave I will throw into that bag of thine My poet’s heart. My poet’s heart shall be thy blood, the blood of thy orphans, As long as thy grief lives. Come to-morrow to the graveyard, O thou Hungry One!