Wind whistles on the prairie
Pulling, tugging on wide spread
Grass, wild and free
What secrets does the zephyr
Whisper to a single blade
Grouped as if to huddle
From an unseen force
Perhaps a storm looms
On the horizon, only time
Sees the coming of the season
Old man winter sets a course
Upon acres prime for his
Dance with icy chimes
Falling bits of snow arranged
In lacy patterns, no two alike
Blanket the land with
A cold quilt of silence
Only heard by man’s need to
Fight against the bluster and chill
That stops all activity and action
On the vast land of mice and men
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem