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. ...