I trust that it will carry on somewhere,
the dry wind of summer that whispers
through hair and skin and every sin,
on to amber autumn and cold purple winter.
It is not a lover of Shakespeare's haven,
neither a foe in Homer's tales,
but I trust it will carry on somewhere
and carry me within its sails.
Across the lands and vast open waters
to the evergreen forests that never do turn,
above the sands that grow ever hotter,
that without wood or fire continue to burn.
The heart desires the sight of ice
the kind cracking, falling, and eternally standing
that under infinite measures of the sky
do not expect a human's understanding.
I trust it will carry on somewhere,
the dry wind of summer that whispers,
but it carries nothing but my thoughts
on to amber autumn and cold purple winter.
~EB~
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Carry me within ist sails! Nice piece of work.