The counterpoint of life so fine-
All those minute threads, all those warps;
Weaving the color scheme divine.
It takes my breath; it stirs my sleep,
Unceasing, toward action it prefers:
The currents of being run fast and deep.
I become all those things around me seen,
As the mineral, the rocks it would caress
Along it's travel down rocky bedded stream.
By constant friction, reveal a polished stone;
Either coal or diamond, it's all the same:
Hardness no fault, when by God you're hone.
No distinction made, as men value things-
To become and not be static is the standard;
Every living thing of it's own creation sings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem