My casual gesture is rising
The golden goblet overfllowed
With a cascade of words
To the mouth inexpressible
With a chalice of persistent thoughts
Like drops of blood marking the road
To the white summerhouse of dreams
Standing in the garden
Wrapped within the elaborate
Tangles of Jasmine and stranglevine creeper
Leading the purpose through the drawbridge
I am encouraging participation in Autumn change
Sensitive breath of the wind thats knocking with trees
And flying without the memory protracting
On the young green fields getting higher
It is beckoning rains of the coming storm
Over to myself with the lightning
The poet is writing with heart
Each with one dropp of the red rowan
And tenderness of longing is falling...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem