The fallen leaves run wildly from the wind
With the two exhausting in tandem
And they rest…
Both weary from the bitter cold
Of a December morning
They search for clues in the sky's hues
And listen to the day...
Concentrating, concentrating, focus, focussss
One hunting on sight, the other on sound…
And both wondering who will again
Make the first move <><
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem