Wintery Blush.
The street was cold snow had yet to fall, asphalt frozen pearly grey and
pavement tiles cracked underfoot. The sky was limp clear, the sun was
but a decoration, a miserable yellow balloon not taken down after
the New Year party. From the insipid sky hung icicles the sun couldn’t
thaw, but solar reflections made them look like sparkling diamonds.
A frozen painting of isolated beauty, of an unbridgeable haughtiness
that knew of no compassion. White clouds gathered looking as a flock
of polar bears waking over their future demise. But their warm breaths
thawed the icicles that fell like snow, covered the land; and my untidy
garden appears equal to the neat ones.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem