A cold frail figure walks
in the snow
His heart warms to see sparks
from a bonfire down below
He nears the blaze
his heavy heart urging him on
and as he does gaze
into the gloom
his weary eyes meet silhouettes;
moving about on unknown errands
dark and lifeless
while a bent soul stands
by the fire, a dropp of fiery silver
making its way down for all to see
along a drain engraved on her
face, now whitened with misery
He retraces his steps steep
the realization sinking home
no soul will weep
when he is dead and gone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem