It is the mid of winter
The chill is still in the air
And the fog still hugs
The tree tops afar
The old bones rattle
The skins go dry
And the warmth flies
Out the little cracks and holes
The sun looks dull
With a watery hue
The wind is full
Of the tales from the north
Of homes made of ice
Of frozen rivers
Of white furry creatures
Darting on the snow
But the little flowers sprouting
On the boughs of Mango trees
Whisper the change in the air
That is soon to come
I could feel the chill of winter in this wonderful poem. Beautifully written with crystalline images.
Beautifully inked about the changing nature. It is not long for the spring to arrive. Thanks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The sweet messengers, they. Nice work, Ruta