Out side a cold wind
Raps its icy knuckles
On my front door
Inside a fire burns
Bathing the old walls
In a nervous increasing heat
I am torn in my decision
To stay where it is warm
And suffocate slowly
Or venture into the cold wind
Which is natural and pure
Both would kill me I am sure.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem