The Winter Season has begun its erasing...
With each of us-a bit stripped raw-
Sliced by a cutting North wind-
In the grasp of January's claw;
We are unanimously oh so ready
For the Springtide air to draw
That we make wishes upon a February star
For an early Winterime thaw;
Looking to the Ground Hog on his day-
His shadow 'tis either met or no
But the stinging bluster of the North wind reminds-
That the forecast-still calls for snow;
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem