Oh mine lips that abstain from heavenly worship.
Mine eyes, not demurely lowered, but lifted to an appraisal of the heavens.
The tree through the window;
Soft whisperer,
Universal song.
The gentle green caress of the grass.
Mother nature’s creation;
Man’s playground.
Pagan worship,
The passionate love of nature,
Connectedness with all creation.
Mine lips say nothing.
We are the silent ones.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem