26 JANUARY 1985, Page 26

Hunger

They lack the strength to bury the dead, Even the ones who need so little space. Too weak to shiver, children die of cold. God moves, unmoved, in mysterious ways. These have not sown but still they reap. At night when he falls on his bed The doctor reaches for Sherlock Holmes A mystery solved, it helps him sleep.

D. J. Enright