Wrestling wet on winter's heel,
Running from a shifty stemming soul
Scraping skies with white-lustered frenzy...
The discontentment isn't bound by
Showers in spring,
Torrents of summer
or the burning-brisk of autumn.
Winter's smite won't deter
your wrath through tumbling skies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem