Gold, freezing feeling.
Slight change in the environment,
less space yet less choice,
Maybe the case is noise.
Many a man,
serves right when he can,
This isn't an announcement
To it.
Sitting in his riches,
Staunting the boots,
of ice climbers,
in the race.
Race against time,
Not a slow, motion crime.
The grey rock,
Can only glance back.
He's gone and lost his boy,
called Jack.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem