The motion of gathering loops of Water
Must either Burst - or remain in a moment
The violet colours Through the glass
Throw up - little swellings that appear
And spatter - as soon as another strikes
And is Born - so pure are they of coloured
Hues that we feel the absent strength of
its power - when they Begin - they gather
Like sand on the Beach - each buble
Contains a complete eye of water.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem