A bleached-snow vortexes my way.
A blemished goddess taunts its presence;
Her scoffing words dealt little damage for she resides in the storm;
Her sluggish enclosure resumes course.
Blinded by a flurry of misconception,
Her face has lost an ornament- and she reaches into the storm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem