we scatter seeds with careless hand
and dreams we ne'er shall see them more:
but for a thousand years
their fruit appears
in weeds that mar the land,
or healthful store.
the deeds we do the words we say
into still air they seem to float;
we count them ever past
they shall last,
in the dread judgement, they
and we shall meet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a very mature poem. i like the way that readers can fit their own thoughts into this, just like a jigsaw puzzle. rachael