It's winter in April,
and I am still waiting
for you to come to me...
I have an illusion:
a hard rain, a cold wind
turns into a heavy,
gray, sticky snow...
I am looking at the window:
in my dream colorful flowers
break through the snow,
shine through grayish dust
of painful winter...
The flowers flung up into
the tossing sky, and
down again, spinning
around the worm sun.
We are together outside,
holding hands...