seeds fall
out of the bosom
of the air,
the seed
of each
unique
snowflake
born,
born from
the bosom
of mother nature,
the milk
of her
winter
nurturing
woven landscape,
the seed
are the snowflakes
born from
the cloud-folds
of her garments shaken,
soon to be shaken,
'Over the woodlands brown and bare'.
Quoted line from ‘Snowflakes’ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem