Born in the dark, in the forest's womb
Living to survive, escaping a frosty tomb
Yet nurturing and caring
And finding those who've lost their bearings
Braving all the cold, just to feed the pups in the den
Persisting in the blizzard's night, over turf and over fen
Guided by the pale moon's light, then back to the den
With a hare for feasting on
Or a minx or a tender little faun
Something for her little pups to eat and survive
For another arctic day, waking alive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem