Bend ourselves over the
Water, where the heat blends through
The down, and shines upon us as who
We are, and who we rippled be.
Farther lengthened by the standing, grows
What lives as darker man:
Ever present, ever silent,
Pressing onward,
Still at hand. As if accepted,
Though we move, it stays and so
Do we. Yet questioned ought we
Make, and sure, that followers
We cannot be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem