Beneath this roof, where warmth once shone,
A loaf of bread, a life unknown.
Long years have passed, the seasons turned,
Now whispers rise, a hope returned.

The table's bare, the hearth grows cold,
A story's tale, a story old.
I seek the sky, a feathered friend,
To tell me tales, where bounty's end.

Do feathered flocks, with wings so free,
Know of the crumbs, for me, for thee?
Have grains of gold, in fields so green,
Been scattered down, a silent scene?

The wind may sigh, the sun may gleam,
But emptiness, a haunting dream.
And in the air, a silent plea,
For scraps of hope, for you and me.

Tomaž Jevšenak