Each little raindrop
Turned into an icicle
A coloured prism
With every cloud burst
Hale stones rained on the city
Dropping down chimneys
The little flowers
Quivered as the hale stones hit
And fell to the ground
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a poem warming up on lines not so frozen...good poetic picture...10