Time enough for springs
longing tender things
as flowers bloom
in pastel hymns
along once silent woods.
Time enough for words unsaid,
interlaced in pictures hung,
within this chambered heart,
like notes to remind myself
of a dear, sweet, other part.
Time enough, time enough
till life still beating stops,
upon the close of narrow boxes
that six feet under drop.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem