Time, on your fins aeonian over space
holding, loosing, taking back events passed
through your units-each marching on a face
of twelve. Souls who do bond to you are classed
as your gems. Souls, so you do admit seen
in the ken of memory, for their best
to meet up with touchstones ever has been
there. In light, rock-souls who survived your test,
have stepped on failures (the herculean stairs
of lessons) to fortunes portioned with flowers
gilded in the sun who out his beam bares.
Energy limitlessly in you towers
for your units in labelling age due
on all in the cosmos as 'old and new'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice address to time, i like it.