Pull aside the curtain! The moon rises
Above the garden - this is the present.
Wait awhile, are you sure of these surmises?
Look again, the woodland gathers absently.
These are the shadows that the moonlight throws:
On lovely woods so dark and deeply true
That tell of what we lose as knowledge grows,
And pathways missed, as easy ways grew few.
That other world of childhood calls us still:
Broken pure delight - can it be mended?
And second starts once lost to lack of will
Bring deep regrets - are these now transcended?
The forest deepens and its depths grow cold
And little can be changed by those grown old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem