Meeting the 67th spring

March shadows lick dirty snow,
the twenty-first century flies by,
pigeons graze, a ray shines from the sun,
a breeze drives caravans of clouds.

Everything is shorter, thinner, life is a narrow path,
not have time to comprehend the short essence of life.
Why is everything in the World so established,
it is not known how much to live.

Pigeons are definitely unaware of this,
looking for food among the snow lines.
March shadows of blue full,
and spring slows down, sleeps and dreams.