Single thunderhead
In an empty silvered blue sky
Trying to hold the fiery Sun's light back
With limited success,
The cloud's edges glowed and burned
So intensely.
The Sun was cutting through
And reveal it's crystal majesty
To the raindrenched world
Before the setting time would come.
Washing the skies with many colors.
(6.3.7/The Gift)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem