My lips are riddled with cracks and hardened patches of skin, like flakes of mud in a dry riverbed, splintering with sparks of pain as I press them together, trying not to think about the raging thirst thickening my tongue and making it nearly impossible to swallow. My hunger, once torturous, has faded to insignificance compared to my thirst. The merciless sun has covered my body with blisters and dead, peeling skin, irritated by every movement. With every step my knees threaten to collapse, occasionally making good their threats at the worst possible moments.

Sitting together on the ice and the snow,
Listening to the wolf howl low,
The boy and his dog sat by the fire,
Under the shadow of the church spire.

They’d wandered that day, far and wide
At every house and farm they tried
To find to lay their heads;
To find a place to make their beds.

With frozen fingers and teary eyes,
The boy gazed up at the starry skies.
With child-like faith and belief unbound
He prayed this prayer, so profound.