The last snow

The last snow. Still white,
against the background of the gray turmoil.
The dried grass turns yellow
and brings on heavy dreams.

And the days pass in a dull range,
without bright rays of sunlight.
Please see it for yourself,
without long sorrowful speeches.

Secrets wander in the misty distance.
They cannot be discerned.
And thoughts stir up wounds,
and strangle the soul, apparently in vain?!