As you walked across the fields of snow
your scarlet coat was like the blood
of some tiny wounded animal.
Your moon-like face was bright
and when at last you came into my arms
I saw the snowflakes dying in your hair.
Since this is the only way I can get to you, WRITE SOME MORE.
Most times, a poem like this goes on and on and on, to boring death. But this one left me very hungry for more. Beautiful poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a voice from way back! I hope you respond. It would be good to catch up on these many years. Tony Woodcock