Cradle Poem by Christian Thomas Scott
Cradle
Needles pierce themselves upon,
The sun and shadows, as they sway.
Clouds of candles carry onward,
To the Forests where we lay.
Carve themselves into the time,
Timid do the birches lean,
Under trunk and crumbled sand,
Can all the scars and wear be seen.
No wistful daydream can restore
The long-gone days of burning free,
With all the tales of fabled love,
Our lives are naught but memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/30/2024 5:03:10 PM # 1.0.0.1119
