He did not see the thing that killed him,
Too intent on what had thrilled him:
The early sun on the frosted trees,
The Christmas Card look of Winter’s first freeze.
This was the scene that so appealed
As black ice on the bend took him into the field.
© Ray Mather 2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nothing man I'm joe mama