> Far down memory lane I go dusk after dawn,
every night I keep restlessly coping
with implacable dreams of red birds in white snow,
in pristinely white fields scarlet robins.
An irradiant noon glares upon Raven Heights,
where the winter is deaf from the gunfire,
where on soil fiercely riven, on snow bluish white
rounds of robins alight and respire.
Heavy blasts from the frontline resound over hills,
notifiers pay visits to mothers.
All around Raven Heights fallen soldiers lie still,
and a red flock them silently covers.