the wind whispered wintery words of morning chant,
the sky naked in blue beauty beat down upon me,
the fragile glass like grass, shattered under my heavy feat,
beside an icy clear stream i took my seat.
two little birds landed near to my place of rest,
looking for discarded twigs for there winters nest,
chirping away in blissful bird like song
the timeless trickling of the stream,
as a poet this is where i belonged.
the strain of the city, dripped away from me,
like a tourist i gazed at the freshness of it all,
is this where man first called home,
is this where there spirits still roam,
untouched by the roughness of material man,
true to the lords origanal plan.
the choirs of bird and tree's
a saving grace for a man like me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem