The wind is wild that stirs today.
The cold tells me to rest and stay
indoors until the storm subsides.
And yet the sun no longer hides,
but shines to bless the blustery morn,
and so condemns my bitter scorn.
As when I wish to quit the fight,
and quietly step into the night,
there seems to come a subtle clue,
that I should wait for spring is due.
I'll test the day, but I'll be brief,
till spring can bring its warm relief.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem