Even in a dreary-night of gloom dark December,
Too happy I was, happy like my yard naked tree,
Whose heavily loaded foliage branches in warm summer I always remember
As they bloomed boasting in their green spring, bursting felicity:
The vile hand could not undo my joys or harm them
With a sleety whistle through the flowers with new buds on stumps
Nor the frozen thawing glue them or them did tame
When they were budding at their prime, none was at their game
The rain was falling in soft whisper in dreary-night of cold stark December,
Too happy I was, happy listening to the gasp of water joining a street brook,
Whose din's bubbling I always remember
The divine water whisper pray was never written in a book
The vile hand could never mar these sweet unforgotten,
Moments of nature touch; grass, flowers, dust in paths so seldom trodden
Living, dreaming through these months of December
Along following years helped these false rebukes dismember
An old heavy trunk fig tree of years so many
The long conversations I had with that tree as a growing little boy!
Which were there in me as enormous strength ever any
Never marred or writhed at passed stolen joy
Cherished childhood days, the feel of not to feel it,
When there is so much of it; an endless stream of memories none to heal it
Nor numbed sense to solidify it,
Yet, every day, moment I live by it, I feel it.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nero, such a nostalgic poem👍👍👍