My stare in grayness turns to sky;
snow rules above trees' foliage eaves;
the scene is white, the nimbus spry,
snowflakes fall slow on paper sheaves.
Morpheus' acceptance of surrounds,
this time of dusk that forwards guise;
keen aptitude of night abounds,
my image hung on skylight flies.
Melt rain drops fall on paper scripts,
below the street lights look like tears,
lithe winter maids have sealed their lips,
on frozen lakes they slide for years.
Amid the snowflakes laugh and cry,
meanwhile the soft snow nicely falls,
and picturesque the dusk comes shy,
defying in woods my voice and calls.
And as my calls with darkness blend,
their laugh waves drift on Greenland's Thule,
blithe sounds for years, in air extend,
through gray December's snowflakes tulle.
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Comments about this poem (Thule by Giorgio Venetopoulos )
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