I was striken in the city morning,
Wondering what this cold old man had.
Who was he to torment me?
Responsible he is for the earth glistening,
And his fault it is for mornings bad,
This old grumpy man is everything we see.
He appears to us at the crack at dawn
And won't dissapear until high tide sun.
He chills and bites,
And his bite stings so hard.
It turns us t'what he be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem