An autumn day
I feel the frigid air on my face as I step into the cold. I start to walk to the field and I feel the crunching of frost under my feet. Small puddles scatter the ground and are they bleed water under my feet as I step and crack them. My hands are in my pockets and the coolness is seeping through. Standing by the duct vent is the best decision I made that morning. The warm air softened my face and hands as I pulled them out of my pockets. As I stood there, some came and left to keep warm, but the chill was still haunting me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem