The wind that blows cold
across the ice covered sea
is a southern and fearsome one
and the plantless and cropless
Antarctica freezes with lack
of rays from the sun.
Many famed seamen
have said their farewells
to petrels and penquins
who thrive on the shore;
the first anxious seaman
was Captain James Cook,
a Briton who sailed the ocean
history of the wild to explore.
Antarctica has many resources,
oil and gas, and fish of the sea
but the land is ice-capped and
barren; not a nice place for
a tourist to be, although
there's no end to the mystery.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem