December’s days are brief with chill
As the winter winds are dreary
Her frail beauty is decaying a little
Curled or uncurled her locks gray
A heart is without her, a soul longs
Seemingly it skips a beat with a thought
Painted or unpainted all fades away
Real beauty lays underneath hidden
With little words softly spoken
In moments when two is one
Maybe when the leaves bloom
And the sun hangs high over head
I’ll find her once again
As summer winds unfold-
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem