The days of Summer are inside the atoms of this mild pain,
It only comes from the distant oceans where the water lies.
A picture is strapped to the heart as the wailing begins and fades,
Lying close to the edge of an abyss so strange and rigorous.
The days of this season are of the wailing children so cold in
The dawn, that breaks because of the lamenting and destroying.
It is the night of no regret, a station of peace, one pictures the dread
Of the black night as an ocean of forgetting, a sea of distress and pain.
One day you will come towards the dockyards and dispel the monsters
Subduing you, a well-worn duty for the measure of the communities.
Monster and minion stand oceanward, forgetting the mind's defence,
Willing you to partake in the sorcery and swordplay forgiving them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem