Broken Tombs in the wind,
Whistle with loves and lives,
And Voices in the snow.
Winter is deep and it loves in strange ways;
Not in the least,
For the living as the dead,
Embraced in its cold earth.
The hidden gates and the abandoned ball,
Succoring the universe as they succored from it for those years lamenting
in the wisdom that they would be here ever since their lives took shape.
Seldom kept in their minds as much in their hearts of life but ever on,
What the dead do is not Known, and Eternity…
[∴Can winter be over now?]