Pastel with Typewriter

It is the wind gentle cressing the women’s beautiful hair

Under the poet’s typewriter

It is enough snow for putting in couldron on the fire

The frost is breathinglike a crushed glass

Bones are witening in cemetery now

Under heavy coverlets made on snow feathers

People and catlle are grazing your snowfall

Kenn whistling from the edelweiss

It is creaking the houses which we are stepping on

God, what a winter you give us!

Under the poet’s typewriter

It is the wind gentle cressing the women’s beautiful hair

It is enough snow for putting in couldron on the fire

traducere: Carmen Anutza /Austria