Then crept night across the pond
Casting shadows on greying
Weatherboard; like sullen ghosts
Those leafless talons grasping
Stretching like dying fibrous fingers
Still the pond chilled and trapped
Caught those splinters of the moon
And thrust them like sparks
From a struggling ember
Until the warmth was smothered
And the shadows crept back
Toward the dawn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem