Dream fluently, still brothers, who when young
Took with your mother's milk the mother tongue,
In which pure matrix, joining world and mind,
You strove to leave some line of verse behind
Like still fresh tracks across a field of snow,
Not reckoning that all could melt and go.
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Comments1This poem is a beautiful and melancholic ode to fleeting creativity and the transient nature of words. The imagery of "fresh tracks across a field of snow" really struck me, as it captures the core of the poem - how everything can eventually melt and disappear, just like those footprints. Overall, it was thought-provoking and a pleasure to read.