Beside a hill
a recumbent stone.
Mystical patterns adorn its face
carved in the language of Gaia,
remain unspoken, unheard,
meaning unknown.
Lost with the passing of time,
to become just another piece of the mosaic landscape.
Earth's spirit written in stone
forever one with the cosmos.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem