Leaves shaking in the wind, crunching their way through
minds, scurrying memories like leaves being kicked by
passing feet.
Walking along, picking up colored ones, sightful to the
inner eye, allotting time to begin again in winter's
slalom, racing downhill in hurried thought.
Glancing at the scenery, memorizing the way back up in
the future.
Paths are heavily laden with snowdrifts blocking the
way, icy winds are blowing, freezing memories across
pathways, causing slips and falls.
Being bruised and hampered, limply faltering to the
side, ready to lie down and become the driftwood
soaking in the cold snow, finally making preparations
to close the too oft open windows of my soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem