In a figure of eight,
She skates.
Blades artistically carve motion on ice,
Watching her dance,
I shiver as she glides,
And when she spins, her grace is like a ballet.
And as the air warms,
Traces of her dance are no longer visible,
And no-one would know she had danced at all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem