Ember in ash, drizzle in fog,
wind whistling through woods,
stones covered in moss,
leaves submerged in mud, beneath frost.
Vapours on blur window glass,
Kid on a bench,
waiting for rain to fall down;
Through hours of cold,
grey clouds passing by.
Impulse roving on wave,
delicate fingers on brown bark,
quiet it is, and numb you're,
like firewood burning in hearth;
Subtle calm, and cinder hollow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem