Though far-removed from mortal touch
A soul can fondle the gossamer cloud.
The blue hearts would be frozen from woe
If not for it being the shroud.
The beautiful rose’s thorn can prick
But the cloud with heal the womb.
Its rain cleanses softly the forgotten tombs
And the filth of fallen bricks.
Forever eternal, a home for the passed,
A world of forgotten are massed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wow....i am truly speechless...that is simply..such a beautiful write.. i'm in complete awe, perfectly written...wow...i really adore this poem... its definitely going into my favorites... wow so, perfectly beautiful!