By the Winter Willowsby leuchovius’ ghost

Searing winter winds steal the air from my lungs,
So that I may never speak the sickened words of this world again.
By providence, a thin white hand points to the river path.
Then follow as dying lights
They flicker out, and the white wall of snow closes tight.

May the flowers locked in ice beneath my feet never thaw,
Winds take the skeletal arms of willow trees in a ghostly dance,
And this wicked and false city blurs into nothingness in the white,
Blissfully forgotten forever
Beneath the crush of the sullen and dark storm’s trance.

She’s here, the beautiful, tall and pale Angel of Death,
Naked, silent and wan, drifting gracefully by her invisible light.
Do I dare to catch her glance, full of the centuries and terrors unknown?
Her glance where tears sparkle,
Sapphire, aglow with memories of Kamaraden and the blackened stage of war.

Alive! But only for a moment am I, graced to be in her sight.
By the blessing of her tears may I soar to heavenly unseen heights.
Shivering as this glorious Swastika Angel stands at my side… now she beckons,
And softly draws near,
And she asks me as sheering winter winds rise,
Where do I choose my grave to eternal lie?

All for her, the only Love that lives.

Sieg Heil !