Time is running out.
Racing bargain hunters
rush through it, erasing
its quiet joys of reflection.
The season’s moments lost
in an ever changing climate,
fade into the familiar abyss.
What now and what is this,
a new year that offers
more of the same
or a breath of fresh air?
Exhaling at last...
I dare to breathe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem