On her snowy hand, took it she,
Saw it for a few seconds silently,
And being shy utterly,
Helped it on its journey.
She could feel the flow, watery,
Forcing it to step inside,
But it turned into a Shelley,
Trying to find a way outside.
What is more reasonable? Its fight to live,
Or her struggle to make it help her survive!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem