E-arly twenty-seventh February
U-ses the Monday beacon;
N-ight cold chilling wind
I-s brought to oblivion.
C-oal clouds don't gather, instead they all become white;
E-ventide turns into rising sun, setting everything aright.
S-hadows have disappeared,
U-nderneath the blue sky;
P-ouring rain evaporates,
R-ugged weather passes by.
E-ach haze has vanished,
M-ist is nowhere in sight;
O-ne morning looks lovely, beauty is holding you tight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
...beauty is holding you tight. Nicely written And well communicated. Sylva
Thanks, Sylva... such kind comment will be treasured deep inside....