Siberia

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Firstly I wrote this poem in Hungarian on a cold winter day
and once I decided to translate...

Submitted: March 16, 2014

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Submitted: March 16, 2014

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The hoar-spirited bushes hide and lie...
The old glacier of the ice sky
Wears the hard coffin of chill.
The moon feels cold. It becomes ill.

/The sound of a pack of wolves bite into the wind,
The snow storm roars echo throught the wild.../

2012.04.22.


© Copyright 2017 Steven Croat. All rights reserved.

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