Snows will not come
not come that easy
but winter cold
already beginning be
though be just September.
For
after all
how many days separate
us from December?
Christmas New Year's Eve
and then the fateful
New Year?
There will be many rains
in between
and many storms
and many tempests
and my eyes will so
to weep
and be dry.
My sides be dry
Not with summer heat of
Parchedness:
But with the hunger
Born of wintry dread
But wait:
Autumn still has
To deepen
Nay to come.
But then time passes
As sands that glide
Through fingers.
As in time-glasses.
Time be swift and
With it age
As time with motion
Goes
Motion be swift, so
Time, so age
So the fleeting days
And slipping sand.
The cold chill many a time
will cut my face,
the fields be soaked with
waters,
the leaves fall,
and sere bend the olden
trees
fear will raise its head
in the last year's few days:
few?
Over a hundred days and more.
Wrath, despair lie in store.
And
the cold chill many a time
will cut my face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This was just lovely! Much appreciated