In a corner of the soul
I kept,
on the day of the first snow,
the white lilies
of love.
In the snow with kisses,
footsteps left traces
of unborn longing.
Today I look back,
there, in the deserted corner,
and I just find
the traces of longing,
but I don't know anymore
from what snowfall.
where are they
the snows
with flakes of love?
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