Frost, cold.
And yet there is a warmth exposed.
A shoulder is provided to sigh or cry.
And an empathy is sincere and deep.
A weeping shared is also complete.
But when the heat turns off...
A quick breeze is felt.
No pretensions here are dealt with.
This flame that burns is genuine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This was really pretty.