In the fog
a black dog
on the white,
frosty grass
skips, hops
and rushes by.
Above the fog
another fog
blushes and its
purple murmur
in silver dew
sinks its embers…
…while, on the boulevard,
well fed, narrow-minded,
prisoners of their noise
and their brutality,
a few yobs saunter by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem