In a cold climate poetry withered,
Processes slowed, anabiosis.
Onto reality — a lazy projection,
Snow and frost wrap it in fur coats.

Fortunately the planet is tended by the sun,
Summer changes even winter.
The formed globe plays with its axes,
For no one will cancel the first cause

To freeze and to warm,
To deaden and resurrect again,
To develop nature, to form the human,
Offering in experience rhythm and rhyme,
To paint the picture of the world’s making.