I waited for words
in patient love
relaxing on this shore.
The poet never speaks
before he is moved.
In silence, in imagination
pure, I reach the source.
The mystery ofmyths
of light shine in my
darkness at my core.
My blind eyes
regain sight
and my deaf ear
hear now in this silence
of the wonderful moon.
(Graphic: Vee Hietsch saved to TravelPinterest.)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem