In some alabaster glass, I shine
Face fresco'd by the day's first light
As time draws down to the finest line,
Noon-day clouds have attained their height.
Hours pass by like a highway flows
Turns day to night, and new to old
Till the pile of minutes soon has grown
Too tall; so then the time must fold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful poem about time folding told in rhyme. Instead of the usual images of time being cyclical, I like the idea of time folding into itself to make room for eternity. SO...who is the I in the alabaster glass? ;)
I could not figure out what was 'flowing' everything seemed obvious..rivers, clouds, sand in a glass..guess I am that sand in the glass. ;) Thanks Pamela, glad you are still about here on PH.