I looked again and it looked like wheels left deep engraved trails.
I looked at the sky and saw the Tyrian silvery sky.
Not even one hint of a drop of dew left promised.
There were no birds in sight.
Everything looked dead.
As I quickly turned my neck, and began to knead my beloved's bread.
This is winter's long suffering that I dread.
No sound from the rooster, I wonder, if he's dead.