1 de dez de 2011


Winter is like a whistle
descending from the gods
drawing to the moment
fiercely embracing
so intense I want to hide
before it catches my skin.
Gloomy foggy streets
iced naked trees, birds sheltered
bright stars in solitude
short days and long nights.
Is that time of the year
 god opens his window
and looks around to admire
so all needs to be quiet
nights cold and silent;
I wonder if he feels
how warm we are inside.

Image - Zermatt (Switzerland)

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