Stark plane trees stretch thick spider webs
To etch the fresh blue winter sky
Bespattered with light tied-fly blobs
Of seedheads swinging way up high.
And larger lumps, black silk-sheath wrapped,
Rooks' nests festoon the higher boughs
Whose limbs like fine wires slash cross-hatched
The duck-egg background, free from clouds.
My screwed-up eyes which blink and squint
Make out these patterns through the rays
From glinting sun that gleams a glance
Of rare remission from the rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem