Red sunrise, morning arrives
a snow bunting stirs the morning air -
crisp, as winter walks up our secret path.
The first snow arrived, pulling away the familiar landscape
into a dream-like quarry, deep within the soul
with nowhere to go, but here.
And ice forms atop Meller's pond
keeping beneath it summer's secrets,
except for you, leading the way.
Faster and faster, the merry-go-round spins
in the schoolyard past.
By afternoon the shadows form,
along the forest edge, short to tall
guarding entrance to a wooden world lost in your eyes.
Some say Never never comes, but keeps us wanting
searching out the frosting window, candles burning to light the way
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem