Of all the nights
This year
This night
The dark pit
Opens
Sump of a decrepit
Sunset
Gathering orange
Clouds.
The lone chapel
Bell rings
Tolls
Vespers done
The clouds soar
Slow
Beginning of a storm
Narrow roads
Country and
Winding
Stars eyes
Of the night
That weeps:
Waters
Twilight and
Muddy now
But
Clean
In the
Moon's light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem