poetry is everywhere
with a lost love
a lost childhood
it sees the future
to death and beyond
time is perfectly patient
it waits never restless
but poetry
does not know its span
the words are like a river
the river runs past time
and all that time creates
here grows the wild rose
there in the thicket
the flash of a tawny fox
none hurry save man
where all thought resides
where poetry records
the tilting universe
the river the rose the fox
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem