In my blindness i was blind eye O mine
to pluck from thee to kind
roam back to me.
Silence golden not to some waves crash
upon your shores.
Light in your garden lends to I a fresh
scent to me the breeze
may blow..
Such are the dulce blocks from Klods
path on now he roams..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem