Disclaimer: I don't claim any rights to Hetalia.
Do Svidanya
Flurries of pearl, fluttering prisms.
Instead of muted hues, colours strike out with fresh vibrancy.
I dance through streets glossed with white,
Skating along in thick boots over ebony ice.
The scarf I don, riddled with holes
Has yet to warm me; strike out the cold, or otherwise.
I stop in a grey corner, jingle the few coins in my pocket.
Maybe I'll use them now, maybe in a day to come.
General Winter's troops swarmed my cities;
Panic and chill settle down in the snow.
I shoulder my weapon, grimace on my way.
I've a feeling this war will be long.
Tattered and distressed, a weak butterfly of colour,
A shredded propaganda fades into the snow.
Twisting, turning, a labyrinth of stone and ice.
I fumble for a key with frozen fingers.
Briefly I am warmed; the wind soon whistles through the walls.
Tiny faces, swimming eyes are filled with hope and hunger.
Pockets are rifled through,
Hollowed out by hands eager for happiness.
A matryoshka, a tin soldier,
Peeling and rusted, they bring fleeting joy.
I shoulder my burdens, smile on my family.
I've a feeling this war will be long.
A/N: Just a piece from school, and it seemed to apply to Ivan a little. Read, Review, and Enjoy, and have a Happy New Year.
C.D.M.
