In some unnamed country,
and in some nameless grave
crosses she into heaven
crosses she in a timeless chariot
with angels on her wings
and she leaves this mountain of sorrow
and among-st the merry band that follows
all the way,
in her footsteps
she sleeps in quiet harmony
as her chariot makes way to heaven.
she was no angel
no apparition of saint
she was just being herself
and upon this wide open earth
as the free struggles
and the tyranny plunders
she was the nameless beauty
of human race.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem