Unable to sleep
I stand at the northeast window. A pond
of snow-melt,
back dropped by five spruces
with a streetlight just beyond,
swamps the lawn—is a lake
where moonlight,
shredded by the ragged top
of a midnight forest,
paves,
with golden cobble stone,
a pathway from glacial shores into the dark
of myth and mystery,
into the very Land of Færy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Another wonderful winter-scape. Enjoyed immensely.