His strange wish
It is during winter, chill wind
Crossing his mood and temper,
A keen desire to go out for a walk,
May be in search of new something.
Tall trees, winds, the growth
A puzzle and pleasure,
for mankind for the stem and wood
from tiny seeds on this soil.
Ice cold, does not make him
walk fast, slow, slow but
driven
by a spirit of impelling force,
driving force, ahead of his energy and time.
Stars and snow shine
and run
My blood in
mood swayed
Far ahead towards a
path
Uncontrolled by any external.
Winter still runs in me,
In my being, far ahead of
something.
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