Winter palette...
Sanding each quatrain and tercet, I sought that very classical severity capable of conveying the cold beauty of the moment. rhymes, well, how they turned out...
Winter paints silver on the glass of the window,
Lays a veil of frost on the branches.
In its palette — tranquility and sorrow,
And each hue, like a moment, is one.
On the white background — the wall of the past,
Tracks lead into the incomparable distance...
There time's hard steel freezes,
And the endless depth drinks this silence.
In this beauty, like in a mirror, the soul
Sees the echo of time that passes,
Where each flake of snow — like a border:
It will melt, but it holds its trace.
Oh, how life is similar to winter —
Glistening for a moment, and then — only traces.
