When we returned, the house was full of dust
spread like a gray carpet to welcome home
very special people who, at last, must
like birds recall their nest though far they roam
in regions of rosy splendor that delight
through comfort and plenty, fulfilling dreams
of life and adventure by day and night, --
but soon time has settled like dust, it seems.
When flaming sun reduced to amber shines
scattering ashes of the world around,
humble age to empty nest combines
contemplative silence to vesper sound.
The joys of life no golden cage can hold,
for these e'en on carpets of dust unfold.
March 4,2023, Saturday
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem