How will things be for me this winter? Poem by Maya Sarishvili

How will things be for me this winter?
Let's say, may I get rich,
But I shan't order any snow in big flakes,
I'll stock up on unproblematic carefree days,
From the room I shall hound out insolent moles
And I shall diligently fill the cavities in the floor.
For proper things
I shan't mess up the proper path.
A trusting hand
Will remove the dust with a piece of velvet.
I shan't compare the sound of the clock
To barefoot children gadding about.
I shall never again compare anything to anything,
But woe if the bridge calls me at night!
(It's afraid it can plunge right down.)
Its mighty irons crumble my fingers,
When its railings cling to me
And won't let me go.

Translation: 2007, Donald Rayfield