</>Season soon arrives,
this that there place of cold,
running through us like a knife that cuts,
getting the better of us.
Winter creeps around,
menacingly, bitterness,
and all that was a summer-love,
is frosting icing over.
Green and pinks into icicles,
as soon as they appear,
wait for them to melt,
and all that was a tragedy,
is never forgotten in the season change.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great poem! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! 1