Wet winter snow,
melts slowly
as the
icicles
freeze
the
stone statue of Jesus.
Arms outstretched,
offering salvation.
People walking by,
vividly
ignoring
the solemn message
carved in
long-ago
symbols.
Bright orange sun,
hollow warmth
permeating
like
dried leaves
in a painting.
Forget the world
outside you for a while,
seek Heaven
and
find what
you need to find.
Seemingly insubstantial,
yet indestructible,
like a ghost,
the colossal frigid tower
hangs in the sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem