O delicate instrument of patience
That sews herself the seeds of life
Two by two behind her past.
Thou answers only with silence as
Silence herself carries you on a wind
And coalesces upon your life with
The rough hands of winter
down your neck.
O beautiful working ferryman!
Thou spring forth strands of life
(more than what is life,
slowing faster losing always
love) floating cautiously on hope.
Yet still you live, and move as the wind moves
(Silently undaunting) .
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.