Winter is not a time for our hating
For something new is on the horizon
When the magical gifts unfold
Which would be less but for the waiting;
Why rush to the last page of a book
To find an abrupt ending
With no anticipation or relish
Instead turn the first page and look;
See winter as a greatness
The aperitif to the main course
When all is still in front of us
And the better for their lateness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem