After the blizzard
A howling wind
Whistling like a train
Blew the snow
Off the drive
Revealing glare ice
Blew the clouds
Out of the sky
Blew the last few
Dead brown leaves
Off the maple tree
Leaving it stark naked
In the noonday sun
Wondering when
The Winter would end
And Spring would come.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem