Christmas is condensing on the glass
Jack Frost has been at work
Cars speckled with crystal covering
Birds, feathers puffed out,
Like cushions.
White weather and bluish tinged sky,
Snap of cold air awakens sense,
Grass each blade individually Christened with ice,
Rooftops sloping seaward,
And the occasional Passer by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem