On the Tenth of December

They’re sending the boy off in the bitter cold

his hands are crossed on his chest

he has no name, no family

he’d offered his youth to the spring.

On the tenth of December, a fantastic procession

of dead boys and girls

pass happily by in spring

and spring covers their hopeful bodies

joined in brotherhood with flowers

As I look at the pale boy

he begins, in my mind, a different journey

for all of us who lived through those days

and whose beliefs have remained buried.