While picks make good a fastening
That binds and bonds and slows
The violets in the mountains
Will break through rocks and snows
The frosts are their condition
The axe so sharp and hard
While violets seek salvation
In gentle beauty shared
God made the diamond violet
To deck the mountain slopes
Where only man is violent
With spikes and blows to stake his hopes.
The staves and shafts will soon be gone
When summits glimpse the winter's face
But flowers will seed and linger on
Which cleave and claim their birthright space.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem