Blue tones burst from tall gold pipes
While spirits of the slaughtered march to sea --
How black its depths, at dusk it seethes
The tsar's best men by white froth eulogized.
There, unwiped blood highlights the edges of the palace
Yet no tourists see, and shadow themselves
To rustic walls and each for photos later delves
Into a silent pile filed in memory caverns.
Lush music paints fragments of a shrine, insight
To reunite with time gone by, and from my lee
I revel in this organ’s newborn parlance
That nurtures faith and lets stream in the wealth --
Bandura's amber tones, orange radiance,
Enchanted, one lays the claim
to be Carpathian mountains' first elf.