The shadows played in wooden woods-
A dappled, sun-flecked scene,
With trunks so bright-they half in sun-
Each standing tall, redeemed.
The sun's clear display
Revealed her haloed face
A token to recall,
But shadows danced a mystery
On each shady, arbor grace-
Each stalwart viewed in awe.
As I bended up to gaze skyward
To view that looming realm,
Aware was I: 'I'm not divine'-
And no longer 'At the helm.'
Above me, bough's turrets soared,
They tied to rising night,
Assessing this-I became transfixed-
As I wrestled with that sight.
And so with last gaze I judged indeed-
Aware that notion, I solemn look:
'Mere pygmy in a giant's hand-
'Supreme No More'! ... - except, of course,
for leaves that underfoot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem