It is always snowing
in my deepest being,
a snow of sleep, a snow unending.

When I see the blur of snow
falling over distant pines,
I feel a subtle peace, a reassurance.

When I watch it blowing
over the stubble, over the stalks,
a kind of serenity fills me.

My friends have warned:
the death wish is symbolized by snow.
I know. I know.