There is something unsettling about a winter storm,
Though it plasters and sizes a landscape for splendor-
Much like a huge canvas is prepped for art form
And blasted by the wind for a mysterious wonder.
The white surface is now prepared for art's sake,
And my versifying pen is freshly inked to render.
So now I assay to outline life in a frozen clime;
Where row houses assume the same structural pose,
Mounted and capped by a buffer of snow,
From which a plume of dragon-like smoke arose.
All is lit from below by candle-like lamps,
Standing like long torches in ranks and rows.
Lights from afar seem like stars at first glance,
Accenting whatever noble color portrays.
And yards of shrubbery lay under their blankets,
Dreaming hopefully of coming flowery days
And hours of melodious songs from a feathered chorus,
Nested and rested in leaves of glossy, green glaze.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem