Snowball War.
Three flakes of snow fell on the village, there might
have been a few more, but those I saw landed on
the roof of the car and I saw them melt to droplets
of clear water. On each droplets a tiny rainbow and
my mother´s face when I called and asked for her to
throw down a sandwich with marge and sugar on.
She did, often- I´m not a football keeper- it landed in
the snow which was more than tiny flakes; so what!
Bread and sugar, I was hungry and fighting against
children who had invading our street. And when my
hands were frozen I came up warmed them by the stow
and remember how it hurts to get the circulation back
into my hands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem