A little more of spring's silence
Piled on the roof-tops
A little longer morning yawn
In bed
Only the untrustworthy fire
Avidly
With a greedy rhythm
Speeds its slender way
Over ceilings and eaves
The day ascends
Sparks return from the sky
In heaven's water-mills
The stone still grind
Go out and open yourself
To the frozen earth
That walks in the yards
Unclothed
Translated by: Antonio Taneski and Graham Reid
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem