Outside my window, my looking glass to the world,
I see many things,
The cold death of winter,
The barren land, which the death brings,
A clouded sky, dark and gray, like a clouded thought,
A bird takes flight, leaving this barren land.
My soul wants to take flight with the bird
And soar among the clouds.
The snow falls in fast, drifting flakes.
Morning has come, all is like a white death,
But I look at the cold dead snow covered ground beneath my window,
I see a single rose growing up from the snow,
It gives hope, one day there will be no more cold death.
-Sara Jo Andrews
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem