On a snowy day in December,
when the sun shines barely,
branches of slender birches,
the wind whispers something, joking.
He mumbles about a long winter,
about an unrealizable daring dream.
Maybe about a wonderful spring,
or summer, wonderful, quite!?
Only this winter story,
it gives me ecstasy.
And although, in disorder, now,
Im looking for joy in this, this time.
when the sun shines barely,
branches of slender birches,
the wind whispers something, joking.
He mumbles about a long winter,
about an unrealizable daring dream.
Maybe about a wonderful spring,
or summer, wonderful, quite!?
Only this winter story,
it gives me ecstasy.
And although, in disorder, now,
Im looking for joy in this, this time.






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