Chinese toothed, slack chinned,
concerned at the inrunning cold
you flood the snowed path with light
like a stage. Your singular silence
incomprehensible for the coated shape,
once known, now a smile of wire.
The years, like snow, clean the slate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Verily, a good similitude of the aged....10