By the half past of December
When the sullen mist comes
Pursuing the rage of roaring winter,
Fills the space with plump quilts
And some forgotten woolen covers to hide in;
As a mouse do sink his head into the furs
And adds some more romance
The hoary snowy wind, comes by chance
To touch our drought skins about
And stealthily hears the sighs of gout.
In the ends of boughs all further buds
Are sleeping soothing, seeking the ripping season.
Here the bare eyes see the soothing sun
Against his burning desires through the mist
In pale sheen of daylight, on dewy followers' feast
Hover honey bees, butterflies; the morning priests.
At the Venus hour when the weary workers return
And children from schools with one more lesson learn
Do hurry favor in soon possible meal,
Quilts wait them preparing heating caves
To hide in, bidding farewell long lasting night's zeal.
- © Anurag A. Sharma
a nice season poem.. a good way to think about winter.. Season's greetings
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
thanks a ton dear