Over
The
Edge
Over
The
Slippery
Ledges
The
Gaunt
Bird-Figure
Slides
Below
Thirty and more
Storeys
Looms
The
Sea
Up
High
Overhang the cliffs
White and chalky
Ghosts
White
In the dark of night
As
Interrupted by the moon
There be
A secret round of
Steps
Down to the very
Seas:
There it stops
More
Than just thirty nine steps
Yet
Shrouded in the mysteries
Of its own
That speak and
Whistle
In the nights of cold
And
Tell tales to the lightning
That comes and goes
In winter
In winter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem