Wings of prayer form circles around me, casting shadows
of angels upon my surrounding environment.
Likely aptitudes filtering forms of exact pitch into my
mind's abysses, raking talent into piles of leaves to
be scattered and blown into poetry in times of intellect
and creative stances.
Wriggling through moments of time, cavorting with melodies
of olden days, when we were all younger.
Now our minds play in images of curiosity and wonder on
lonely days at home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem