I come through the blizzard,
growl like the frost or an accordion.
Through five winds and snowdrifts of time
I come chasing will-o'-the-wisp, I come from
where the flame flickers, swamps smoulder
night and day, where mud bubbles.
Longing has filled the bellows of my lungs.
My cry is colder than other cries.
It freezes lakes and locks stones
on shores like teeth.
It crushes berries and peels the rowan trees.
It holds still the forest.
Just snow swirls, above the lake
ceaseless snow.
...
Read full text