Nature nurtures even as she hides,
'My love for her, I cannot express, ' he confides
To the Stars above, contemplating Love,
And the mysterious ways of the Heavens above.
But Light dies not before He rejoices,
To the Symphonies of God in all His voices,
Kindly and calmly, expressed in the Seasons.
And living a lie is the worst of treasons.
So be true to thyself, whether rain or shine,
And never neglect a chance in the Mundane to see the Divine.
Like a starlit night in August's Fall,
Or the graceful migration of birds who call,
Their intentions without pretension,
And pray always for thy Soul's ascension.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem