Between the going hours
Of everything we are
What gets across empowers
The near and the very afar
Light that flows to dim
To enter the new morning
That looks like dreamy whim
In closeness and forewarning
As the moment goes turning
On shadows of many grays
Beneath the stretching churning
That into the beginning plays
When sun rise its arches flowers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem