The muddy, raging torrent,
the droplet of pure water -
Anne, do you remember?
Here, on Brighton beach,
the top layer of pebbles
is ugly and lumpen:
but sweep your hand, and underneath
are quartz-eggs sucked
small by the sea
in pink, white, lilac,
exquisite as Faberge.
I shall make you a necklace...
and throw it in the cupboard
with my other whimsies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well, this is just a very beautiful little poem.