Famine

The sinking sun is now undone, the sky is fading red and shadows prowl neath cloak and cowl for midnight lies ahead. Above the heap, the bosses sleep with bloated bellies fed; for, yes indeed, no one's in need, at least, that's what they've said. Amongst the ones that hunger shuns, in day's retreating tread, are spiders black ensnaring snacks while spinning silken thread. But as it stands, in conquered lands a famine reigns instead - and kids at noon, collapse and swoon on stones they call a bed. With aching eyes they fantasize and dream of gingerbread, and after while, they wake and smile, now dining with the dead.