Letter/poem of death

Dear Sara,
How have you been. Life here on the farm is the same, nothing changes. Everything is the same since you left not much has changed.
Many die, and we all cry. We pray for those who are sick, we pray for the dead.
We go to Mass early on Sunday morning. Father think it's a waste, yet he does not want the villagers to speak ill of him.
Mother is the same, she prays day and night for Thomas. The priest says there is no hope. Yet mother still prays, we do not know what is wrong with my little brother. I fear the end is coming to take him soon.
The end seems close, last night a witch…