I used to sit at the wooden table
And watch the ashes of the sky
Wipe in reverence to enable...
The sun a glorious good-bye
Deep with crimson lined with gold
With its ironed silver rays
On my smiley face unfold
The prime of days
Watching them trickle like a baby over
The washed fence of adobe bricks
Through the neighbours bands of clover
To mossy valleys and mountain peeks
Retiring like a tired slave
To his eternal grave
So when the ashes of our lives
Should fail us of the rays, this shuts
A glorious setting of the sun
In our hearts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow! Its amazing man.