The Sun Directing Me Poem by James McLain
The Sun Directing Me
Mazes, flowers wrapping vines unwinding
scent in blosom find with time to hum
a dancing song on wing through you.
After moon decending skys chill of air has
warmed a path decendant motes of light to
guide it's way.
Zippered powder floating down in dreams
fluttering hazy freely stilled small stream
without a bank to clutch it's tiny feet.
Enters fathers net to bless your sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 10:14:15 PM # 1.0.0.1119
