my dear! do you see these lines of worry?
etching my face, for reasons i know not
while outside the winter's snows in flurry
blow wildly around in drifts, as it aught.
my dear! can you see the wells in my eyes?
a wonder that they will never run dry
entranced were you by a sumertime guise
i worry you cannot identify...
countless miles of footprints behind me
disapearing in snowfalls unveiling
finds me lost in a wood singing of thee
laughing at my own domestic failing;
perhaps it is just my lot to wander...
(that's a thought I would rather not ponder)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem