A dove calls her mate on the moon
but a sea wind calls, go not too soon
for the night is young in-circles-new
the waves are rolling deep and blue.
So it is for you the world-was-made
to lift your feathers above the wave.
So dip your wingtips in the salt rock air.
Brave a poles Ivory stair; if you dare.
For it's here your true love's heart lies-
anchored beneath the lustrous skies
wave after wave, wing on wing,
the dove white-creature-clung, curing
Until the sun in past shadows flame
up and blessed the bird's dead name.
For the night is young in-circles-new
the waves are rolling deep and blue.
Wave after wave, wing on wing,
That dove white-creature sort to cling
curing - deeper and deeper
rolling - deeper and deeper;
the little dove flew-
to the heart of the moon,
to that part of the moon,
that could be a cratered part of you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem