In the death throes of winter, dark angels
Announce implacable realms of sadness:
That come to us with icy blasts of wind;
That depress the tender Christmas spirit.
They linger in the air like swollen ghosts.
They're deep in the frost and the falling snow.
They embed themselves at the heart of things.
We pray in hope for the first bud of spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem