Cautiously they ventured
where no-one dared to go,
across the freeezing mountainside
where climbers lose their lives
and many tiny birds have died.
Misty morn engulfed them,
the ice was cracking stone,
her loyal friend screamed his farewell
as down a precipice he fell
a December day turned to hell.
Mournfully, she travelled on
steps wavering and slow...
a lonesome little figure with
no-one of her own.
And there she died so pitifully
hidden in the freezing snow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
(December Snow by Joyce Hemsley.) **A doleful poem; very touching.