Smooth and crunch by feet of mine.
Snow starts and wind regains.
Holly Father! What a pine!
Holly Father! What a pain!
Your world under moon is hard,
And You’re not as kind as told.
Why need we this world so wide,
If death reigns in this wide world?…
Nobody could rightly say,
Why in sunset of one’s years,
One wants more walks and ways,
Wants to sing, to freeze and… faith.