i see grass blades reaching out
pushing aside remainders of ice
so sharp, sturdy it pierce through
never bending and very persistent
yet muted are languages of theirs
i could imagine survival, no fears
a crow came bobbing her head
looking around as if guilty or some
surveying which could be worthy
she found a frozen raisin cookies
she pick at wrinkled fruit; look up
we, still lucky our food on table top
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem