In the white landscape
where an artic fox chases an arctic hare across a landscape of silence,
near a crystal forest
that shimmers as a million diamonds in the cold sun,
not far from the river icy blue
and still, a barn loudly shouts,
in deep red,
a protest against the bitter season,
the dying of the light.

Inside, in pens, cattle chew cud
and dream of clover fields,
I’m greeted by moos, grunts and neighs,
the winter is long also for them any diversion is welcome.
Switch on the transistor radio,
popular dance music,
animals fall quiet caressed by sweet tunes
and graciously, clumsily they slowly sway.

Except the mare which impatiently scrapes her hoofs on wooden floor.
No, Dokka, my love I haven’t forgotten you,
last summer we bathed in the stream
and cooled rode slowly across a meadow green!
How can I forget?
Feed her yesterdays loaf,
lay down on straw that scents of summers gone
and dream of my princess fair.