He walks me to the streetcar.
I am fifteen, he is nineteen.
We have just met.
It starts to snow.
We walk not saying much.
It’s snowing harder now,
and we are alone
in a magical white world.
I never saw him again.
It was just a moment.
A perfect moment
stored somewhere
in my memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem