If each mistake I’ve ever made in this,
My life, were to become a snowflake, drifts
Would rise above the eaves. I’d open wide
The door and look into a blue-tinged bank
Of snow. I’d close the door and say, “I should
Have left last week when I first heard the news
A storm was coming in.' I’d light a fire.
The room would fill with smoke, however, for
I’m sure I would have left the damper closed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Make no mistake. Another great poem.