In the deserted rented homeland
Are strewn the dust-painted awnings.

No sun peeps out but hovers the fog.
No wind blows save the constant chill.

Here, the wounded souls are dwelling
With much comfort around the clock.

Their sleep is composed with no shrill.
The roaring and growling bring tranquility.

They are intact, along with well safeguard;
Only the ***** intrudes to bruise the memories.