17

It was sunny yesterday, in Leuven
Throughout the day, over the graves
Along the still empty branches,
It was sunny, yet it wasn't a day.
It was a shadow, if I may call it so
Like I am, of myself, tough but hollow.
Spring has delayed its arrival
Colours are working from home as well.

The day that breathes today is foggy
And my window is slightly open.
I can see insects searching for warmth
Alas! Wings will never tell them
What feels warm can be as cold as hell.

They say that hell has raging fire.
Does enough oxygen still remain?
When the fire burns itself out
Shouldn't hell freeze over again?