The snow lay blanket-like upon the ground
The stalks of plants, all shrunk and dead
A sad reminder where a garden once was found
Were poking through without a head.
Winter's beauties are not summer kind
Nor winter's freezing blast
Unlike the warm sweet summer wind
You wish it would not last.
With the death of summer's creation
Man sees and feels a part
Sensing a foretaste of his destination
Melancholy fills the human heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem