February Poem by James Smith
February
Now a late tyrant of winter's days
Presents an icy greeting of pale green skys
And fogging breath
The black crow filled trees ever far away
Across thinly dusted stubble fields
As yet unploughed.
Suffocated in hot rooms
We skimp in thin clothes outside our doors
Teeth chattering needle cold
We make a fast recoil from alien air
And briefly talk of temperatures and snow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 1:09:03 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Harrison you are a talented writer. I enjoyed your poem :)