Immortal love

On a frosty morning,

When snow bathed the towns,

With its dazzling crystals,

He lies on his couch,

Dreams of his nightingale,

Dew drops kiss his cheeks,

He wakes up to a misty morning,

His lips sip the brewing coffee,

It's aroma spreads into the lonely hills agar.

Towards the corridor,

He walks and gazes at the wet windows,

His fingers crawl through the glassy windows,

He draws some patterns,

Were they apparitions or his lady love?

A knock at the door,

He moves towards the door,

An old man stood there,

In old rags,

His fingers tremble in the frozen weather,

He speaks of an ancient museum,

He departs like the wind.

He begins his journey,

Through the dark roads,

With frenzied thoughts stirring up his mind.

He reaches the museum,

Gazes at the sculpts,

Which echoed with its master's craft.

He moves in the north-east direction,

There in the corner,

An antique piece of divinity,

He looks at her,

Her charm fascinates him,

His curious fingers touch her forehead,

Suddenly the guards rush in,

And scream in terror,

Only to witness the corner filled with mud,

And a halo above their heads.