She rises from a limpid pool.
Silvery beads cling to flesh
Clothing her in brilliant shimmer.
Lovely shining tresses spiral
Down over slim shoulders
Framing her beautiful face.
Eyes of moon silver, lips of rose
Grace her fair visage.
And I...
I can do naught, caught as I am
in the dazzling light of her rising.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem