A killing field of grass-blades
Is whetted to bitter sharpness
by frost and icy wind.
A regiment of hawthorn
Stands guard, its cruel spikes
barbed with winter steel.
Companies of silver birch besiege
a frozen pool whose shield of ice
reflects a cracked and broken sky.
Winter's armoury -
till unbuckled
by Spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem