Palaces, which built the cold,
Hills, which drifted the wind,
Trees, which painted the rime
melt... everything melt away.
The world, which built winter,
pass out of sight.
I try to hold
the last snow-drifts of this year...
But snow is thawing
and washes my hands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes, beautifully, the thought and rhyming is conformable …