The cold dwells in the bodies of the children of the camps, and the night is dark and lonely, with no comfort in the darkness of winter.
At the end of summer and the beginning of winter, the cold and the storms make their bodies tremble and their bones brittle.
Cold is the freezing of the soul in human bodies, the fingers of the children like frozen icicles. The cold freezes emotions inside the body, creating statues instead of children.
Crying, the heart is frozen without feelings, their eyes shining without allowing tears to fall.
The wound froze with blood in the human hand, and the rain froze on the leaves.
Winter came, and its storms blew the tents of the people, and the rain came and crept into the beds of the people.
And all the children and birds became homeless under the icy winds that stole their souls.
The rain follows, beating the tents angrily, drenching the beds.
The parents hug their children as they are crying, in their ragged, rain-soaked clothing.
These children of the camps are like migratory birds, looking for safety, just a house with a roof to protect them from the storms.