A seven petaled daffodil
Is ripened by the sun
And taught to dance on golden hills
Beside a river’s tongue
Through quiet rain she flourishes
The whiter winds she loves
And if you ask what “beauty” is-
She keeps it in her bud.
When day retreat and midnight march-
A moon as pale as she,
Licks her lavish emerald stalk
And lulls her down to sleep
It is the Earth which summons life
And Earth which summons death
But in between I feel the gleam-
A divine silhouette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I enjoyed this lovely poem with it's great imagery. Keep on writing; as you are doing well. 'pedaled'-should be 'petaled' ok Ravensong