No more blue skies
nor golden sun
the fields, once green,
they fade away.
Withering reflects the void
in the dourest flowerbed.
The Lady of Dreams, gloomy purity,
takes the veil of milky greyness.
Life slows down with every step
as long as there are some to take.
Joy is banished from smiling
growing to be a grotesque pantomime.
Shinging eyes turn into blind lanterns
and non more lovely moonbeams.
A new day is born with each call
of a sadly cawing nightingale.
Badmorning becomes a greeting
of darkness and sorrow.
Crows are ...