A moment I stood on the precipice,
An hour I stood at last,
Imagination has an eternity
slips defines of past.
'Twas such a scratch of tomorrows
I unaware of thrill,
I boldly stood on that bright cliff
And over heavens hill.
Come back, to soon it vanishes,
Were I - where I stood,
That drop of moments, hours - brood
To some enchanting -
would!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem