Stranger still, they look to me,
They look so far away.
Yet look so near,
So near they touch the sky.
Next to her,
I bend and whisper.
It is cold,
Deeper in my pockets.
Go her hand's.
Two lover's,
In cold orange light.
He makes a final stand.
Their dream's,
Seem frail and brittle.
As the snow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem