When the fire of day my dying sun.
Looks as the flame and night brings purity.
There I lay upon the sand,
he only came to see the ocean by my wave.
Sitting up and speaking to the point.
Faintly is the wind and there are whispers,
where he spoke my common name.
Blue the sea and white the sand of the night sky.
And darker green it some times seems.
Love me tender but never ask me why.
With your hands beneath the sand,
the center lifted high and of my kind your mind.
Like day the crystal shows it's many facets.
Oh, before you leave the fire and sun,
slow recess leaves the night and day is quickly fading.
Comes one and each but I must be, to the sea returning.
Your being in possession of my center, does not do.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem