On our way home,
By the road,
In a yellow-grass farm field,
A small stream freezes into
A lake around their trunks
They are leafless as the
Winter is lifeless. The cold
Begets the trees show their
Jagged branch bones, cast
off their leafy summer coat,
As it tells us to hide
The bark of our flesh
And put on our
Winter coats.
It is so cold,
And on the way home
I see leafless trees
Poking from frozen water
As the bones of earth's
Buried hand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem