They are drenched by mountain rains, and hug the rock for lack of shelter.
Without clothing they spend the night naked, without covering against the cold.
The orphan is snatched from the breast; the infant of the poor is taken as a pledge.
I sleep, but my heart is awake. A voice! My lover is knocking! “Open to me, my sister, my darling, my dove, my perfect one! For my head is drenched with dew, my locks with dewdrops of night.”
Those who used to eat delicacies are desolate in the streets. Those who were brought up in purple embrace trash heaps.
The world was not worthy of them! They wandered around in deserts and mountains, caves and holes in the ground.