Snowy

in times of peace and cheerful laughter
they knew they dwelt in perfect world
but knowing what would grow thereafter
they readied their souls of old
the dying nation had no need to hide
or keep their winter coats in store
and in reclusiveness the crows now stride
where snowy castles stood and
where they stand no more
the world of winter - melting, leaking through -
it burnt a hole in darkness. sun came by
no sorrow and no grief, no painful hue
there could be seen. their end they don"t deny
the hole grew larger, and the rays grew bright,
and snow became too scarce to give support
they held their slender icy fingers tight
when melting also,  whispering "vive la morte"
they"re tired, and couldn"t blame themselves
of unwillingness to continue
their corpses now lie on countless shelves
in halls too deep inside to catch routine…
the progressing decease of icy world
took care of everything they"d leave behind
the new ones found nothing. crows would say no word
and pale and beatiful corpses hold their fingers tight…

(24 января 2001, 19:12)