Winter the earth tilts and whirls away
in it's orbit around the sun
this is not a fairground ride
some are hanging on
and others crouch behind their double glazing
with their shadows and reflections
spiders curtain the moon in the garden shed
and in paperbacks and glitzy magazines
it says it all
cats lick their lips and ask for extra cream
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem