Relic of a bygone age:
You were hunter, when fishes
swam blindly through virgin seas.
You will abide,
until the oceans begin to boil.
Rising from obscurity
to assume your place in the sun
Helicopter of the insect world:
gliding on iridescent wings,
you dart or hover
through lazy summer days.
Such an appetite for living!
Master of languid waters,
no intended prey escapes your outlook.
And we, so quick to slander;
to judge, according to your odd appearance:
“Witch Doctor” – “Devil’s Darning Needle”
Which of us stops to sing your tribute;
to appreciate the beauty of your ways?
'Voice of One' @ Jerry Buckley
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fantastic poem, like it.