I would often take a map
And chose a fresh of blue
Amongst the greens
And hike until we met.
All the while,
High on ramping shoulders,
The whites were in a whisper.
Then one day
A sail of snow,
In hailing glow
And brazened by the wind,
Led me by the prayer.
Up high, where heavens lie,
To the cathedrals
Of the mountains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem