The January wind <br />bangs <br />against the window-panes, <br /> <br />maliciously twists <br />the black bones <br />of shivering trees, <br /> <br />racks <br />Baroque clouds <br />in a scudding cycle <br />of dreams, <br /> <br />under which rooks, <br />like cast-out <br />angels, <br /> <br />frolic, <br />cough up hermetic <br />blasphemies <br /> <br />on a grey day <br />without snow.<br /><br />Leo Yankevich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/silesian-landscape/
