It Was. Poem by Dave James
It Was.
Ice sits inside windows like waves in a storm
The twists and the turns of the fine frozen form,
I breathe on the pane and the storm is undone
Destroyed in an instant like never begun,
Slowly the view from my window appears
As my breath hunts the ice that drips like your tears
I remember the view of the white frozen ground
The running of vehicles defrosting around.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/5/2024 9:42:20 AM # 1.0.0.1119
