The spine tingles coldly,

The metallic, steely scrapes

Of sabers rattling so close,

And fear takes on all shapes.

 

So close that I cannot forget,

That rattles come from blades,

Sharp and cruel and piercing,

No games nor fool’s charades.

 

The step of heavy boots,

The sound of tanks chains crawl,

Across a slip of land between,

Crimea and us all.

 

Silence reigns as pressure builds,

Will they move out, who can know?

Muscles tense and stomach sickens,

Till Putin’s hand will show.

 

The only comfort, God knows,

And He is at His plan,

Whatever happens he gives Strength,

 Salvation, Peace to man.

 

But still my spine tingles with fear,

I am so helpless, I can't forsee,

what shall befall my friends?

What stirs on our Black Sea?