The world is held in a winters grasp
barren trees stand, breaking the landscape
of a near endless night, broken by the lights
of houses, cars, street lamps
and the passing light of the fleeting day
there is a forlorn beauty to it all
for winter is a season of decay
of shadows and dark and little else
but beauty is in the beholden eye
and poet sits in a winters sky
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem