Pure subtlety has ne’er before been seen,
With deep whites and pale crimsons as its sheen,
Opens glorious, its morning greeting,
Yet when darkness comes, its wings - fleeting.
O pious sun, creation and rebirth,
Which underwater, sleeps, in restful mirth,
And up from Chaos rose, wholly divine,
And unfurled from Nun its Saintly design.
Be it Ra or child-like Atum who strode,
With gentle steps onto single shored road,
And these Lotus petals, precious and mute,
Clothed them at night in embracing repute.
End.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like this poem :) good one..