The colors left a month ago and now
This night is cold and dark and filled
With the crack of trees and crunch
Of frozen footsteps
A man walks, ponders how much cold
He can take with a smile, with a balled up fist
While the snow falls, hides
His gritted teeth
While deep deep down a flower sits
Beneath the snow and ice, beneath
The balled up fist and gritted
Teeth, it blooms
And some will say the flower bloomed
Too soon, to hope for survival, to hope for
Warmth, but the man stoops down
And says, “not soon enough”.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem