O deer!
Like seasons subsist
On their own changes,
You slow down to survive
This winter circa 1993.
Dreaming softly
Of your fawn’s lush browse,
You kiss through withered twigs.
Yet the snow is thick,
Crusting against the moon’s jealousy.
Running away
From anglers’ agile dogs,
You give up your fetus.
Yet the wind is cold,
Peeling against the river’s will.
O dear!
Like gestating another
Potpourri child, winter has
Brought a midwife in travail.
This blizzard circa 1993.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem