In wintry dreams, I hear bitter winds blow
Hard against my door; scattering sleet
And snow across plagued streets of dread and woe.
I hear millions of voices crying deep
And wild. They haunt me through the septic night.
Only this small, warm, bright fire shelters me
From the darkness and the cold. Its soft light
Seems to glow with hope, faith and charity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Its soft light Seems to glow with hope, faith and charity. ///beautiful