Poetry

In the winter wind, death is at the window,
to the homeless its is very unkind
while its blowing blizzards of snow.
In the winter wind

it gathers whatever it can freezing find;
God have pity on them whom it blows,
even on animals that man has left behind,

when no humanity does somewhere glow,
when no bonds does men to each other bind
and unheard tears do only freezing flow
in the winter wind.