My splendid cargo;
Tossed about on mountains of foam
But not to forever languish
The pull of the tide
Brings gulls to scour
And discoverers of another hour
A chest of promise brings the changing wind;
Of fear; of warmth to outstretched arms
Words cannot work without matching the face
A face has no state if words recede
Outwards, onwards to the sea
Into the ears, the suspicion of eyes,
The faintest cries of honesty
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem