At exactly
Eight twenty nine
Of the brittle morning
A black car passed
In the melting street.
A faded lonely leaf
From last September
Somersaulted
By the rollicking wind
Over the pallid snow
Of early April.
An orange sun
Was shining
And a grey-winged
Redbreast robin
Began to chant
Her Psalms.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem