When you come and stay within this or that,
Someone spells it out from the world you know;
From what we deserve and in reformat,
Holding its place in its environment lingo.
Since the hour was clear against its own sight,
With the wounded holdings that never stay;
When dark was in the starry clearings light,
Twinkling of old unveiled its space and way.
I wouldn't know the gold that holds the lines,
That brings space into its own true image;
And gives all the surface the lustrous shines,
This is the fore between odds and scrimmage.
Searching goes on where a meaning unfolds,
Through the base of life and other footholds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem