Yellow dull winter days

They have come fast, 

yellow dull winter days,

short on the tablecloths of snow, stain

suddenly the copper-coloured earth.

Few rusty shingle roofs remain

and charred cathedrals, ribs of rafters,

crossbeams and bolts burst

the dark lungs of winter storms.

Past views are killed. Each dawn discovers

new skylights, chimneys born

and raised by night wind’s

dark pipes of a devil’s organ.

Crows, living black leaves, 

tear themselves loose in swarms -

smoky soot flakes, metallic wings

break the dull yellow stripes of dawn

Spirits are low, eyes become misty. Days

freeze with cold and desolation.

That makes us think of loaves, the previous year

cut with blunt knives and without appetite

in long forgotten lazy sleepiness-