Storm wraiths cry, the night creeps in;
Borders between worlds grow thin.
Light of the sun shines soft and weak,
Thoughts drift lost in grey clouds bleak.
Bereft of scent, air crisp and sharp;
Melodies trickle from heathen harp.
A cloak of silence heals weary lands
While numbness seeps through dying hands.
Trees stripped of Green, naked and bare,
And the horns of the Hunter flare.
Gusts of rain sweep like a knife,
No coat can shield the waning life.
Bold hearts waver, souls are shaken,
Colours by grim mists forsaken.
In solemn beauty snowflakes fall,
Still Death walks proudly, ruling all.
Though dark and hopeless it may seem
Despair shall vanish like a dream.
By the trumpets of a newborn day
The dawn of Spring wipes all away,
And Life once more
Will strive and teem.
(N)Euer Senf – mittelscharf, wenn’s geht