Children

I don’t write this for others, but to give myself a little hope. A little hope trickles from my pen onto the white pages. The words are little children who play in the snow and laugh at nothing. Their father nods; their mother smiles. These are hard times but they are ending. This is not a cold field in a foreign landscape, but my own country. After a while, black straws appear above the snow. The snow melts, revealing brown earth. Cold water seeps toward the Dnipro.