A thaw, small puddles,

The snow slurps like porridge.

Instead of blizzards and bitter cold

The off-season takes its run.

No more of those crackling frosts

That wouldn't let us breathe,

Along the lopsided snowdrifts

Meltwaters flow.

The ferocity of the harsh winter

Has soured like curdled dough.

And by the folk omen,

Alas, there will be no summer.

Clear boundaries have blurred,

Time flows without fuss.

In the calendar, all the pages

Are damp from the gloomy days.

And a person, like nature,

Is tormented by the same listlessness.

Bad weather reigns in the heart.

The personal has become alien,

Grown moldy, washed out,

Reducing feelings to near zero:

Hatred has quieted down,

The word "love" is shackled,

Paralyzed, in a coma

Lies the once turbulent passion,

Jealousy and bile at the breaking point,

Envy's power has ended.

Winters come without frost,

The soul grows cold without fire.

The splinter of bitter offense

Will no longer disturb me.

The peak of the off-season in the world.

Lethargy, amorphousness, and sloth.

Light on the dreary planet

Is being reborn into shadow.