My beckoning was only your last triumph.
And my being out yonder lost-was what I called.
Passing more than my-me-mine-you through,
births validation and your-me back too veiw.
My face, I lost in your pride of worth and strain.
e.d.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Pride always comes before a fall, but she caught you! springs to mind. Nicely expressed... Smiling at you Tai