天空訴說優雅美妙，
一種聲音從未複述，
相同形狀絕不重描。
每片雪花儘是榮耀。
潔白點點撒落
見證風的呼嘯。
在飄動的風雪中
我欣然舉目，
冰的感覺
天之愛撫。
上蒼的甘露令人
痴迷走上旅途，
從平常話到讚美
這聖潔的白色之物。
何等壯麗啊 去追蹤
講話的源頭，
去用各種語言歌唱，
搖擺既無苦痛
又神聖，天賜之福。
沒有人猜到
雪傳遞什麼：
慈悲旋轉
吼叫着“是”
在故事的故事裡面。

Glossolalia

The sky says grace,
never the same sound twice,
never the same shape.
Each flake is glory.
Every white sift
bears witness to the voice
behind the wind. I raise
my eyes to rejoice
in drift and flurry,
the feel of ice
and weather's caress.
So manna leads to trance,
then the journey
from idiom to praise
of the white abyss.
How splendid to trace
speech to its source,
to sing in tongues
and sway unbitter
and blessed, in bliss,
as snow delivers
what no one guessed:
the swirl of mercy,
the snarling "yes"
inside the story's story.

By R. T. Smith (美)