Famine - For Real

The sinking sun is now undone, 

                       the sky is fading red

and shadows prowl neath cloak and cowl

                       for midnight lies ahead.

Beyond the heap, the honchos 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.