The cockerel's crow pierces the dawn
Young sun kisses the sky,
Soft moon, in blurry cloud
She melts,
From where she used to lie.
Day, free from night, she breathes again,
And the book it still unfolds,
Steal day from night until she breathes no more,
Another chapter to be told.
Pen in hand the scribe persists,
For the story must go on,
The page now dark and smudged with pain
will end, and soon be gone.
Turn the page and draw the scene,
On blank canvas, scroll or sheet,
Let vibrant pen and vigoured heart
Too long apart, now meet.
When night melts back into day again,
And the cockerel again he cries,
We shall meet again my friend,
As sure as the sun will rise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem