In the cold of the night the pond freezes over
it turns into ice of the deadliest kind,
it looks deceptively strong,
when in reality it is quite thin;
take one wrong step and you'll be trapped in.
The clouds emotion's are swelling
In the dead of the night
The wind's strain is telling
as it screams with fright.
In the last of the night the heartbeat is thumping,
it's unevenly violent,
reminding the bearer of the burdens to face,
and as dawn breaks it loses the race,
it gives up it's fight and forever goes silent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
In South Dakota we tell the seasons By the use of a pickup. We test the ice on the lake To see if it will hold. If it didn't break through - Fall is here and Winter can't be far behind. Then in the Spring, It's noted when The first truck Breaks through. Which means that Spring is here And Summer can't be far behind. s