It snowed in far country
north and
beyond the trees.
As I went through the mirror
my breath froze
clouding it,
and they saw me no longer
in the villages of spring.
I walked alone
across level plains,
and my tracks disappeared
in the snow which went with me.
A wind rose
playing on harpstrings
and reeds.
There was nothing there, and my fingers
touched ice.
A music
a music
an echo of music—
sound not a sound
in the quiet north country—
the snow.
A surrealistic imagination....snow or anything else of nature is music in different shades of scales and pitch... great- 10
Beyond the trees! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Music makes one's soul strong enough to face the chaos of fhd world....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Haunting. The quiet of the snow laden world that might inhale you like the fog of a breath and leave no trace behind.