There is a strange, almost physical stir within,
Like a puppett on a string, the pull on the sea
That full bodied light seduces me from slumber
Highlighting the virtues of my lover
Recreate reflections in cradle of pungeont spells
Induce the memories not yet made from soft warm shells
What confusion lies in the sculpters impulsive hand
When the inspired flesh penetrates the deep to create land
We are ripe in arms cusioned in roses from Reason
My hips foretell the swell of the coming season...
There is a clock ticking and a distant bell
I hold my baby against my belly
While another forms within.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I find this richly-worded and full of devotion, Angharad. It could benefit with more lift in places, though. Also, do run it under the spell checker. Best wishes, Gina.