There comes a cold wind blowing on my face
and my cheeks are ruddy red.
It is a cold wind blowing on my face
and my toes feel like they're dead.
But I could stay outside all day
and never think about cold.
For that's exactly how you feel
when you're nine years old.
There comes a cold wind blowing on my face
and my cheeks are ruddy red.
It is a cold wind blowing on my face.
I feel like I am dead.
I need to stay inside today
and look out at the cold.
And that's exactly how you'll feel
when you're ninety years old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem