Sable hills
etched flat on fragile panes,
glowing sky,
indigo fast fading
to black,
while on the edge of fire
incandescent embers
(cast from the sun
gone to create
new day)
hurry this wheeling world
on ancient paths.
But see how,
newly awakened,
the cool lady ascends,
awash in reflected glory,
full and round,
and lovely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem