A part.
Not the whole chill.
For the whole increases slow
And late.
And in it a numb day shall be embalmed.
Sweet be the chill
That slow mounts hand un hand
With dusk.
All, Any have an Apex
A Target and an Aim.
Not less dusk,
Sweet chill,
Together.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem