the moon stooped down
to touch a stone
and shone her silver light upon.
the stone, unmoved
remained the same.
what time her gentle glow was gone;
the stone, alone
'neath moonless skies
thought fondly of those nights gone by.
when she had shone
like brilliant gem.
he longed, but never wondered why
the gentle moon
would not return.
he knew the answer all too well;
'twas pride of stone
the light to own.
and thusly ancient angels fell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful, Really good stuff here. It is as a tale of old times. Perhaps A Hobbit. S.S.Sandok