Jan Skácel - Always
Tirelessly the snow falls all day
as if some hooligans beat to death
with beer bottles
a swan in the sky
and its sad feathers were falling down.
I am so afraid of deadly silence,
of the weight on trees and eternity,
that in the humans ceased.
And I am not a bit ashamed
for my anxiety, lord, you know it.
It falls on me silently, without a word,
as regret in vain,
at least of that we are capable,
waiting for a kind word.
While out behind the window it falls.
And all the time more and worse.
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