The Letter

I wrote a letter to my kin
And on the way I dropped it
A Russian peasant picked it up
And put it in her pocket

A plea for help, Remember us
As we remember you
Our clothes are torn our shoes are worn
The soup is thin, the bread's all gone

I'm sawing timber, rolling logs
The days are long and hazardous
The mines are deep and wet and cold
I'm dragging sacks of coal and ore

It's very late, I'm tired and sore
I'll say farewell and plead once more
Please send us parcels filled with bread
Remember us... as we remember you

Hilda Janzen Goertzen
Feb. 22, 2008