In my walks I see him every day,
He's quite an old man,
White beard,
Red shoes,
And funny in his way.
"What'cha doing? " I simply ask,
Though to be fair,
I already know;
He's doing what he always does:
He dips his paintbrush in the snow,
And looking upwards
He simply smiles,
Tracing a rainbow with his eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem