As ocean tides come in, subside,
They leave strange "artifacts" on shore;
But their submerged creators hide
Their best on the oceanic floor.
The surfaced life of mighty oaks
Are cradled first in acorn nest;
Emtombed in embryonic yolks,
Before their best is manifest.
And when he, divine, to men came down,
They saw a small town village son.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem