Walking across the frozen lake at dusk,
My tracks meet with other souls
Who have gone before.
To never know who they where,
Their joys, their sorrows,
Saddens my heart
But that's OK.
It doesn't really matter...
For all the tracks, the snow,
The lake ice itself,
Will be gone in the Spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem