The silent glow flickers on your face
and is mirrored in your eyes.
Contentment, soft-edged, settles
and surrounds you
in your haven from the world.
The candles, like our lives,
burn imperceptibly
and, one by one,
they flicker, and are gone.
But they are not gone yet:
They linger still, their light endures.
Their time has not yet come.
Not yet, not yet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem