My waking view is
white sparkling grass
early sun rays technicolour through the fog
Trees shed of their leaves new coated
And ice dotted on small puddles
Along the river bank walk
as the sun slowly warms
white shadows of fences remain
an intricate pattern of ice.
Along the gorge
frost has created new configurations
on the ancestral rocks.
In the clear wintered sky
the sun seems ever brighter,
the world ever cleaner,
a wonderland day.
In the cafes,
rugged in their winter best,
locals chatter endlessly about ‘last night’,
excited despite the cold,
the weather event binding them as one.
Out on the mud flats the birds
Paddle, duck and dive
unperturbed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem