Like Death
Quiet settles on my heart, envelops sullen darkness,
the frost softly rattles, snaps the woodland road
along the river whose nuzzling banks and surface
achingly stand still.
How long this winter lasts: the earth beneath
the bones of beautiful old loves freezes, splits.
Deep within a cavern, the shaggy bear groans,
a tiny roe-deer cries.
The small deer softly weeps, the winter sky's tin-sheathed,
clouds' fringe hangs down, cold dark breathes hard,
the moon flash-flickers, the snow-white ghost flitters
and quivers the trees.
The frost slowly struts, and, on the windowpane,
a delicate ice-flower cracks like solemn death -
you'd think it's only lace - and like sweat,
flows down heavily.
Now this verse of mine ambles along before you,
silently the word appears, rises, and swiftly falls
just like death. And then, whirring, unperturbed,
says nothing more.
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