When under the 5 o'clock sun
Under your skin
You skim
From the crusts of the reckless babble
To pick out one and one
From the tapestry of colours running on and on and on
Until they fall upon
A criminal knot of two wayward threads.
Two yellow threads.
The momentous knot
Upon the monumental dead
Till the nimble fingers of their voices
Tug silently, tug gently, tug upon
And they come slowly undone
Fall back into place
So little known, so much said.
And the sun and the song
Is now for everyone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Fovery one as you said I agree Thought full experession Thank you