Invisible artist
Brush in hand
Easel on the ground
Canvas is the asphalt
Artist runs
Between walls
Runs zigzag
A young man
Bundled up
Is jumping to warm up
Leaves are gone
Branches turned to veins
Stick out choke sky
It is cold
In minus
Life ghost-like
Lead artist
Winter’s Wind
Kisses wild
Street and sidewalks
Top of cars and the world are painted
Painted white
The snowflakes
Land and fly
The Butterflies
What a scene is on Yonge
North of Finch, South of Steeles
On its way is winter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem