Across the lake like a desperate cry
I’d catapult the smoothest stone
that I could find and watch it fly
high into the air to hover there alone.
Now I wonder why,
years later, I remember it high
up against the sun, as if I did not share
in its long fall into the deep dark water there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
your poems are fascinating and magnetizing. want to reread them again and again! Add..
You have a generous heart, Liza! My sincere thanks Charl