When it does;
is it predetermined and reaching out
how it is we have a measure of it so.
We with each new found it turns begining;
sprung it springs returns
and it twists the icy glass of each new world.
Too you it brings each new reflection to all open eyes.
Beauty is one reflection of the night/light left behind
and lacking sight do you view the moon when felt as real.
Real or not it happens every night,
when the sky is open wide.
Beauty warm upon the eye, inside each face when full.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem