In the frozen whispers of the night,
Where shadows dance in pale moonlight,
A tale unfolds of endless rest,
In the cold embrace of Russian Death.

Silent echoes through the trees,
Whisper secrets in the breeze,
A soul’s departure, gentle and swift,
In the land where time seems to drift.

Snow falls softly on forgotten graves,
Covering the tales of the brave,
In the stillness, a quiet breath,
Marks the presence of Russian Death.

Yet in the silence, hope resides,
A flame that flickers, never hides,
For in each ending, life renews,
Beyond the shadows, skies of blue.