Look to the silent,
Sloping hills.
Anchored in the deep,
Red earth; we move
Upon them with footprints
Scattered on the wind.
The wind blows.
We breathe.
And our breath
Doesnt turn a leaf.
We are a thought
That builds a form
From the billowing dust,
The basic soil we
Are made on.
But we have the
Very breath of God.
Death cannot kill us
And He has sown
Eternity in our hearts.
Mere thoughts, mere thoughts-
But we are more immortal
Than the hills.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poem... eloquent. You have a gift for writing.