Where is the Dryad of the trees and the sweet little dove
That coos quietly feeding on the grains of corn on the dusty street,
The thin clear air reminding us of the changing season-the changing times, for there is a season to be merry and also to be sad.
Christmas is a time for contemplation and not just for good food.
Sing to me now muse for my spirits are dampened by the times,
Sing to me O muse of poesy.O sing sweetly to me my muse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem