Through long, dark blanketing winters,
We try to keep up with life.
Every cold day, we sniff through our Coffins
To feel if it smells like grass, and wait
For bells to toll that stifling silence
Away, and hear the chirruping that breaks
Out of the ice-clods. That makes
It rather easy to stand the frost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A really great poem, like it, a great write. May i invite you to read my new poem called, The Holy Man.