Цикл стихов "Грим Вахт"

There was a collector of doors, his servants had to open half a hundred of his favourite ones to get to his chambers. And there was a creator of special architecture, his buildings were always not the kind he intended to build. He completed a sauna, but people came there and saw in a giant mirror their lost beloved ones, they spoke and touched each other. Every one left happy, the queues were long, so the creator had to wait for his turn. When the time come, he stepped in front of the mirror, and whispered the name of his sorrow, and waited. But no one came to his call. Then the light faded in his eyes, he sunk down in agony, losing consciousness, barely feeling somebody's hands around him, gently holding, not letting him hit the floor.