And so now we return to the subject of light - the kind of light Newton pulled apart. The kind, despite the haste by which it crosses the skies, it finds darkness just as fast. And, whatever which way we see light it seems nothing better decorates our mind. There is nothing straight forward about the workings of light. Perhaps it is this that promotes us to seek God and to seek light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem