Black frost fall killing, chilling
plants and grass to death
while a tiny sickle moon
watches flimsy
and there's iciness
to the wind
which cries around the corners of the house
and through French windows
the chill creeps in
like a unwelcome visitor
and tonight I am really sure
that it is winter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem