Few folk will talk about shadows
after a long winter
except poets, who listen
to what shadows say.
Perhaps the morning’s warm light
tip-toes through the day
to afternoon.
In poets’ rooms, there is quiet
stillness – as if snow
was falling ...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
as if snow was falling. good work. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.