Intense showers of creation,
By the One who matters,
Have been never evil to my soul,
Granting me a hatred of speed,
Of brotherhood and brilliant peace.
It cancelled me, that season called winter,
In winter it snowed of flakes of silver
But gold believes it now has a home
In the shadows of the sky
And the layers of the sea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem