New-York under the snow.

The city,
under a strange immaculate shroud,
is all silent and deserted.
My steps in the snow,
that nobody follows,
are like my struggle for life.
Difficult,
because under the virgin surface of this path
the deepness of my soul is fragile
under my feet.
Only the softness
of the snow flakes
on my face
give tenderness
To life.
soft and so little!

the men shoveled the snow of the street
all night long!

Tomorrow, everything will be melt away!
Tomorrow I will no find back my way!
And New-York will live again.