The craftsmen of alabaster wood and the
art of creation is life,
is love. Their eyes sparkles, gems
alive at the product made.
Not one but two partake within
the violent process; wood
chiselled by fluid motion.
Three-fourths the earth
completes its revolution around
the sun. Shavings within, parcel
received with joyous reception. Their
lives changed forever; happiness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This was a good attempt at a poem with delicate taste. Did you know that alabaster is a mineral not a wood although the word is sometimes used as an adjective for delicate white? Vases are often carved from alabaster. Adeline