A gentle hand upon my skin
To balm my sleeping soul within
A fragile brushing 'gainst my face
Sweeps my soul with air and grace.
The kindest, mildest, tender touch
Subdues my soul to mind too much
The quaver of my joyful heart
As all my anguish blows apart.
And in the fluent light of morn
A freshness in my soul, reborn,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem