said
the discalced friar
peering his head
out of his cell
into the strait and narrow
street
back of the convent
how the stars shine
to cool waters drink
and sober wine
invite they
yet here
voluntarily
penance and suffering
me to genius lead
and glory.
lo! here the painting
be
ready
before the burning stars
are out,
all out.
mark,
mark as closed the day.
heavens have cleared
the clouds ferret away
and only Spirit-Soul
hovers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem