Now the morning is coming
In blossoms of its light
Wind on my window humming
With its cold outside
Dreams are in their place
Filling empty on look
Thru their mystical hazy grace
That binocular bliss took
In a universe of their own
Where we are in our difference
Plentiful not yet shown
In their in-between trance
In their toward on falling
Thru the timeless steps go on
Endless fantasies are calling
Thru the lakes of wild swan
Where we feel always more
Castles in the sky beyond
Of coming of unknown shore
Never to authenticity dawned
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem