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