A drifting subpolar circulation
Around the northern hemisphere;
For tired soul a gently invitation
With promise for the grief to disappear.
I know a northward - flowing cold
Which reaches a white Antarctic coast;
The dark is everything I hold
When all the hope is dead and lost.
The night when I hold
Your hand just for a trice
Becomes so indescribably cold,
And now the snow turns into ice.
The winter slowly will descent.
The night is full of stories untold...
Another sorrow shall advent
Into the northward - flowing cold.