Snowfall —
I loved it.
A spectacular show
I saw in Groningen,
and later in Seattle —
a real fall of flakes.
Leaf fall —
from the mahogany tree
standing beside
our house —
then a flush of new growth:
a lovely natural cycle.
Hair fall —
oh dear —
from my own head —
the best and most shocking.
No longer a comb
in my kit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem