Through golden pillars,
Over silver-threaded carpets,
Sat upon thrones wrought from the Earth,
Bathed in the glow of fire on nature's holy altar.
Memories like spirits rise and dance from embers,
The wind sings as a chorus of angels with an eternal breath,
Time washed forever incandescent,
For man is just a weary star in this temple of heaven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem