It’s winter,
The cold season of exile.
The heart of the earth is heavy with frost,
And no one speaks,
Not the crow,
Not the crow’s kin.

The clouds cry gray tears,
And the air suffocates with silence.
The sun, hiding behind shrouds of ice,
Has no warmth for the desolate ground.

Oh, stranger,
Say not the season is cruel,
For the earth knows no kindness,
And time is an indifferent watcher.