The old chuff and huff
Trekkers carry backpacks,
Artists concentrate on margins
With paint brush on the easel,
The young eat takoyaki,
Tourists snap the valley,
Lovers find seclusion,
Kids cajole their mothers
To use coin binoculars,
A pickup truck chugs on
Busy footprints and car tracks.
Then it snows silently,
Through the moonlit night,
Heavy flake, wafer white,
Pearly dust, feathery chips,
Iniquitously settling down
Creating silhouettes,
Revealing the fantastic,
On a trackless road,
Without footprints
Obliterating homogeny,
Orphaning all chroma.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem