The breath of dead man winter’s
Swirling vapors of the frozen -
Forging dendrites in the splinters,
Bringing rains, the rivers run.
Along those swollen banks we stroll,
To take account of winter’s toll -
Eviscerated, but his ghostly grip still lingers
In the frost that splits the soil.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem