the wind still is blown
ever searching for own soul
while mine own soul...
is carried forth upon floodwaters
flame is lost from vision
wax has melted memory hot...
the wind whistles whistles sucks
dripping ripping forth lost souls
hear their haunting cries echo within...
Terence George Craddock (Spectral Images and Images Of Light)
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem