Above zero
In the Siberian Express,
The Arctic Vortex
Is slipping up.
I see cement,
A welcome event.
Winter birds
Are chirping
In the early light
Of morn,
And crows
Keep on cawing,
From lighted dusk
Til dawn.
The squirrels are leaner now,
Looking for old nuts,
Like me
When I being to think
These imitations of Spring
Might bury winter's sting.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem