Pin pricks of light sparkle through the snow
Miniaturised by the scene
Spellbound in a Tolkien dream
All is clean and bright
Softly, softly down it falls
Tracing your path so to speak,
In the coldness you communicate
Wonder if God sees this time
As the ‘grumble of the week’
The meeting where He knows all
Your emptiness deepens
Your only a man, standing in a dream
Talking! To yourself?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem