My coffee, hot
In constrast of weather wicked
Winds awhirling
Just outside my pleasant perch
I will dress in thick layers
Protect my skin,
If not my heart
From these trying days
Of slicing gales
And paled happiness
That August offered
Breakfast, near a window
Open it, and the day blows in
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem