The
locusts
have
all gone
to winter
under-
ground.
Clinging
to the trees
are pale husks of
their summer
selves, soon
to
be filled
with ice and
breeze of
this
season's
freeze.
I like the flow of this... and it makes me look forward to winter all the more.
A beautifully written description. I love the image: 'pale husks of their summer selves'. Really good.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Its history is happier than a Georgia O'Keeffe bone painting but with the same sterile beauty. I like this, I've spent so much time on this poem I had to sign-in again to leave a comment.