"Far from the village, past the s’eighs' traces
Ice a little pool encases
And the shrubs around it tie
Hiding it from someone's eye.
Two mice skate on ice, pick up
The dried berries in a cup
Their s’ate-coloured furs when run
Catch the glimpses of the sun.
They stop with paw on their hip
They quickly rub their face a bit.
Branches strikes them, make them go
And they skate on ice in flow.
When the stars are shining bright
The mice remain frozen in the night
With the paws up in the air
And heads leaned back, in a pair..."
I last saw my grandpa a long time ago.
He has no idea how grown up I am now.
His far away village, he wants me to see
Telling this story... would it be real or fantasy?