When nothing new is found
I fear the end of time
Failure to sense something sublime
This thing I can not name
That's held me all the same
Through wars and waters ravenous
Gratitude even when my pen runs dry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Like a benediction. And yet this poem belies your conclusion. For beauty flows from your pen even today. Warm regards, Sandra