I feel the cold crisp air rush my face,
as i step out of my rustic cabin.
I breath in the fishy lake water
and the sweet pine trees.
It smells like heaven.
The sun is still behind the mountians,
as my family emerges from sleeping,
hair a mess and sleep still in their eyes.
Four ion the morning is ealy for most
but here its routine.
The lake is a sheet of glass.
it reflects the moon on the surface.
We fire up the boat with a cough.
Gliding through the water, we cast our poles.
And then we wait.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That is a lovely descriptive piece. How lucky you are to be in such a slice of heaven; or to conjure one up :)