Postcard winter days are the best
bright morning sun
reflecting off snow-capped pine and spruce
the air cool and still
taking each breath in deeply
pumping hard my skis glide effortlessly
I feel a surge of exuberance well up
I stop and shout at the top of my lungs
Ya! Ya! Ya!
This strange crescendo
releases my penned up tensions
leaving me feeling relaxed
leaning on my poles
and weeping for joy
overlooking what has to be
the most beautiful valley
in all Christendom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem