The tree shakes from the early breeze of November.
The roots turn their way toward the surface reaching out to the sun.
Taking hold of all the water it can before winter comes.
Absorbing the warm air before the cold takes over like a virus sucking away your life, before you could even say goodbye.
The tip of your toes goes numb turning purple from the long days of ice and snow.
Chapped lips and dry skin turns your day in to nothing but trouble.
You’re flying down the hill at top speed.
Once thinking that something like this could only happen in a dream.
This is not a dream.
The grass makes its appearance from under the snow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem