the December gathered speed
is rushing along wet roads
there is still no snow
in legs more
I feel rheumatism
it is drizzling it is raining and wet
my big window
slowly is flowing down the rain
and I would still
like a bit of sun
the December gathered speed
is rushing without the apprehension
for a moment will arrive
on its large sleigh
white winter...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem