/lit/ - Literature

>>9531031
An answer I will give you
If food you have to spare
All I ask is sweet sweet oats
For this vale of tears to bear

This winter long and chill
My farmers grain has withered dead
Oh shall you grant me modest meal
And thus my youngest child be fed

Or shall you turn your snout away
And to your plentied trough return
While the winds do bite my naked skin
Tears make my eyes to sting and burn

The choice is yours my brother dear
Don't let me be forgot
The answer that you seekest now
With spare oats can be bought