A finger pointed in the sky
to clouds and sky beyond my view,
and marks the seasons of the year
in varying penitential hues.
The moon, the stars gaze on this sight
the galaxy holds its clues,
but no man knows for sure the time,
or height, or width, or depth of views
where love abounds.
To those below it points the way
in many words without a sound
to lift our eyes, our hearts above
beyond our views; beyond our bounds
to timeless thoughts of faith and hope.
Then find sweet rest, for peace is found
beyond our height, or width or depth- -
the finger points where love abounds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem