He draws maps of made-up lands
Kings and Queens are born from his hands
Forests and lakes at the tip of his quill
In that world, all is bound to his will
Oh, weaver of worlds
Master of words
Wingless, he takes flight
In day, he bathes in moonlight
Winds and tides he bents
The sun rises and sets as he intents
Ah, master storyteller
Made-up dweller
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful panegyrics on God!