Cold kiss, of bliss, is sweet, as sin!
Do ask, the forlorn, lovelorn moor
Or the wolf, who sniffs, the soft, shinshin
When the snow, hugs fir, in, a l’amour!

It’s not, a funeral, at church-yard
But a fest, of love’s, unrequited peace
Where fall, once rustled past, lush boulevard
Sleeps, spring’s timepiece, beneath, winter’s white fleece!

Not the, riot of rain, that steeped, the wilds’ heart
But a, warm calm psalm, that stirs, the wasteland’s soul
Like the, war-torn soul, of Bonaparte
In Mozart’s, lost notes, finds, pain’s, cold parole!

Whilst soothe, land’s soul, fiery tears, of sun
The, moon’s mist, farms, myriad dreams’, childhoods
All the realms, seem to meld, in unison
When Whispers Snow, In The, Silent Woods

© 2020 Vikas Chandra