A letter has been written to an old lover in unsain smiling ink
it took no time to exaggerate the love, as we all think,
the swallows wer dead now! their lifes had been sacrificed for love
their bones were put into livid crematium, their love has been recoiled in a corner-made washing sink.
The letter spoke to the lover without any painted grievences
it had to do revances best-shared memories in peace
when the lover broke into tears in the silent valley melting with the burdon of snow-
each burried bone and each particle of snow went into stimulated piece.
it dedicated the burdon of the old craftmenship which once his mate has represented,
the letter had no sign of the relation between his own periphery of pain and misery,
it recourshay at the corner of the purterbed moistures she has got last summer
it only spoke about the beach she and her mates visited and it took les to enjoy the old days of fishery.
The man looked up as some birds flew at the misty weather, which was getting snowy,
his tearful eyes turned into jingling with relax, as he looked back at the dead swallows,
So he know the place where the both had died and their soul were resting in peace forever
every courage to criticise her girl friend make him remind of the writing- it’s a snowy letter