In Prague’s old heart, where history breathes,
Through snowy streets, my Trabant weaves.
A relic of the past, in shades of grey,
A journey unfolds on this winter’s day.
Beneath the spires, where echoes linger,
My Trabant hums, a nostalgic singer.
Through winding lanes, where tales are told,
A canvas of white, the city unfolds.
In whispers of snowflakes, secrets untold,
Prague’s mystique in each story, it holds.
Trabant’s engine purrs, a rhythmic rhyme,
As cobblestone streets freeze in wintertime.
Past ancient bridges, by the Vltava’s flow,
My Trabant glides, a ballet in the snow.
Casting memories on each frosty pane,
In Prague’s embrace, a timeless refrain.
Through castle shadows and narrow lanes,
My Trabant journeys, where history remains.
In a snow-kissed waltz, with the city in view,
A poetic ode to Prague, my journey anew.
The Poems I Never Wrote 