The wind is howling over the steppes
Footprints in the snow
Then they stop, and silence
A grave covered with snow

How many? I try to find
My father buried there
But no cross to mark his place
I cry out with pain

He valiantly went
Without asking why
Leaving a child behind him
He never embraced in his arms

I waited and searched
Looking for him in vain
In every maimed body
Returning from the plain

I never found his grave
In that vast unforgiving land
Only remember his face
Remember it well.

- Gemma Tamas