Winter’s Last Blow

The sun shivered high in the clouds
It tried to spread it’s magic
But winter’s army forbade it

Below in the tundra lay two lovers
The night was theirs, so was the day, theirs’ to lose
With nothing more than an overcoat, joint and a box of matches
Shivering in winter’s guffaw

They lit the joint
And the remaining matches were kindling to the flame
But the winter wind is harsh to the blaze

Where was their love, so vivid and pure, the emblems, a fresh scent of a rose, the harp’s song and the rugged texture of a shell, found in the parks, palaces and canals of this great city?

It was here from a flicker came a flame; alas war destroys love, lust and life
They fled east from Peter’s gem to the tundra where they are; the horses are gone

The more they inhaled, the more they danced under a chandelier in the golden palace, frolicked through rose gardens in spring and relished the moments spend overlooking the Neva, ships are sailing, but these aren’t harbingers of death, but missionaries of peace: aboard, the Lord and his helpers, missionaries of commerce: explorers with gems from the Orient and missionaries of love, a couple looking up the river, a path ahead, crystal clear like the water

They are frightened, they shiver and shake; they are only human
They scream “Anna and Alexander” and the echo brings them into the storm

The death of youth and life
They are no longer on earth’s stage, but in Zeus’ realm
No longer in the play of life, but eternal members of love’s game

They hold hands, smile and walk into the storm, into another world.


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