on panes frost is leaving refined patterns
are as carved, and glade in the snow.
the winter is adding snow down and even,
you don't know, at any time, you can lie
the longest possible, to fall on one's face,
because on ice, a layer of the snow,
is poor as well, treacherous.
you are going into a skid, and you are
going like, all over the sheet,
and when you stop, you will count losses
and you will walk from that moment, on with the
spatula, and the small bucket, full of sand...
you will sprinkle, you will flatten and ride
you will sprinkle, you will flatten and farther
correct braking - nothing is threatening you,
in due time and for place...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Interesting and charming, has the cool climate. It is being read lightly, and it is a merit of the efficient poetic pen. I am admiring :))