The frost
Hung coolly
On the glass,
A dim tint of green-orange
Permeates the air.
His guitar rests gently
On a bed of
Crumpled papers,
Cold.
And the peach Sun
Shone from it
Once again.
(He's got
Musician's block)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A really fantastic poem, love it.