The soft breeze carries a fluttering flake,
Above the ice-matted earth,
Though now it cascades witlessly,
It falls to rise in worth.
I see that beauty lives,
In the things we cannot tame,
To think these silent renegades-
Shall never own a name.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
but at least they get a Poem, which carries longer than a name. Great work.