He’s stuck in winter by the woods
And I am stuck in spring.
He’s lost but content to be away
In the darkness, of death it seems,
And I am content with life.
He wants nothing more to stare
At snowy trees and stay there for the night.
But I need hope, the fragility that spring
Offers, not the cold, dark atmosphere
Of a woods on a snowy evening.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem