Oh wind forlorn
how faint your slight breeze,
Through towered woods wrestling
To stay or blow free...
Under forgiving moon
how pale you paint me,
Has lark sung too soon
Her song escapes me.
As sunlight slivers rise
bring morning glories,
And night blankets wide
Fall in my stories.
3-14-06
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem