In the silent streets where whispers weep,
The hunger of time, profound and deep,
Dreams once vibrant, now softly fray,
In the Great Depression’s somber sway.

Fields lie barren, hearts heavy with dust,
Hope is a relic, encrusted in rust,
A world in grayscale, devoid of song,
Where the nights stretch endlessly long.

Children’s laughter, a forgotten tune,
Under the watchful, indifferent moon,
Each dawn a battle, a test of will,
In the shadows of promises unfulfilled.

Yet amidst the ruin, a flicker of light,
Resilience blooms in the heart of night,
For even in despair, we find a way,
To hope for a brighter, kinder day.