With much weaker power the sun goes on its way
disappearing at night somewhere up high
while in winter everything living
is yearning for heat, to something that brings warmth
With the cold feeling as if seconds are jumping much too slowly
with you shivering later in the last part of the night.
With much weaker power the sun goes on its way
disappearing at night somewhere up high
When people insist on light,
with birds of prey gliding on the cold air,
lovers finding each other, giving love freely
until the next twilight
with much weaker power the sun goes on its way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem