Still was the day before the polar night,
Still was in front of me, serene and bright,
Like a dream of the aged man who knows
It was a dream…tearing the petals of the rose.
So white was the season,
In which grew the reason…
Of each recollection flying to the frozen silent sea.
Lonely, so high and right rested the Knowledge`Tree …
Still was the day of the white bear that couldn’t see,
But he patiently was waiting to catch the sleepy sun.
The ugly paws stretch to touch the future doom
In which, the ice-flowers sing the blond bloom.