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How they march with heavy feet,
Without rest during days,
Without meeting a person nor creature,
Which makes the march much heavier.

The skyline of a village on the horizon,
Using their last forces,
Letting the wind push them forward,
A little hope, they kept going.

A cemetery welcomes them,
Where those are resting who fled from their sorrow.
The inhabitants were surprised,
Gave them bread and offered them beds.

An unknown force
Lets the street be forgotten
Which leads to a better life.

They stay in the village
Which cares much about them
And whose only exit is outside.