What eternities have these small fingers fashioned
From the realms of the spirit
And made the living folio of a life:
Love watermarking all your learning -
A haven to those whose souls are searching.
The gentle gravity of a wisdom,
Clothed in such pure simplicity
Only its wearer cannot see,
Singing its sacred song
To sailors of those oceans uncharted,
Beyond the bounds of the temporal
And the means of the mortal heart.
Satellites (not acolytes) are we become,
Fired in the crucible of your morning sun
Reflecting first your practised light
‘Til our own small incandescence ignite.
Where once reigned but lack and naught,
Eternities have these small fingers wrought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem