1. Bring me your snows, bring them,
For they are of my life,

2. And let your skies storm,
And focus on my pains,

3. So they will not guide my being,
Nor touch my qualities,

4. Not even my art and thought,
For my slumber is not me.

5. I'm a stranger in my body,
So it has not been my essence,

6. Like a torch not of
This violent iron.

7. Bring me your snows, bring them,
For they are of my life.

8. Sixty years have passed,
As if I were in a wasteland,

9. Where the cold is murmuring,
As if it were my sighs,

10. And the heat is snow,
As if it were my stumbling.

11. I did not find shades in it,
Or mercy from guides.

12. How could I, when people are captives,
To every hating tyrant,

13. And they hate redemption,
From the sinful tyrants,

14. As if humiliation is a law,
With the rights of prayer.

15. Bring me your snows, bring them,
For they are of my life.

16. The wailing of storms is from me,
And their storming is from my storytelling,

17. And even if you do not care
For a world that does not obey,

18. While I do care,
Like the maker of miracles.