With you
With you I climb beyond
The icicles blue and changing
Colors
The icicles that hang
Insecure willing not to fall
Yet
All in peril of a dangerous one
I saw.
I hopped from one side to the
Other side. The
Street or country lane was
Dusty and dread-murky
Grinned.
I liked not.
My lips I pursed.
And I kept with bent head
Just trudging
Trudging.
With bent head.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem