Константин Бояндин «Winter»
Pours down upon the earth,
From heavens shedding shards of frowning frost,
The stairs are ashen, clad in glassy leaves.
No one can pass the bridge the winter gives,
The frost is mine.
The eager wind claws clouds, tears to dust,
The mind roams wildly, mixed and nonplussed,
A choir of past in fallen soul holds sway,
Domain of dire dazzling dark dismay,
It was divine.
I'm taken off the board.
Delusion is well-worn well-earned award,
Its ghastly songs, they cry and boom and ring.
The only hope is spring.