Winter comes from far away.
The cold slick as a dinner knife;
ducks stare, zinc eyes, bottoms
brown as tobacco leaf;
December speaks Turkish or slow
Japanese I cannot translate.
Watched you sail alone,
bare headed; shouting to skeins
of green waves;
sea caps destined to reach shore,
children returning home older
than we remember.
England dark at 4 o'clock;
short days open like a dance fan,
the little orchestra. Ja Da.
a scaffold abandoned by a painter
twists to burnt iron color.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem