I've walked
The flat lands
Of Alberta,
And ascended the foothills.
Near the doors of France
I've approached the caves.
Crossed the Channel
And praised the chalk altar
Of Dover.
Looked skyward
To the Dome,
Thought of creation
Across the blue
Michael knew,
Then touched
My fingers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem