Snow poem by Lars Gustafsson

Lively snowfall over philosophers’ graves

A lively snowfall

falls like an ironic comment

over past philosophers’ graves

in what is practically 

a continuous winter twilight.

One of them was a kind of market-crier

the second was a sway-pole artist

the third kept a look-out on street corners

That era is over now. Here this snowfall thickens.

And these pages lack writing.