As the winter moon reflects upon the icy river valley,
a soul searches the darkness of his own mind,
where the water of life and resource once flowed abundant,
has frozen over with the changing of the seasons.
A victim of the moment.
The trees, naked and transparent, fall prey to the ever-changing winds,
even among the protection of its own kind, still portrays a lonely and lifeless chill,
far from the summer breeze that tickled it's leaves with joy and meaning,
it hibernates, standing firm through the course of time that gives it's inner-rings stature and age.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem