In youth castles
are built of sand
ever shifting
and restless
Somewhat as beach
combers.
Eventually a tide
swept in,
gathering them in
angry arms
whirling
expectations to sea.
Here of late castles
appear on high ground
undisturbed.
Who can touch the sky?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Castles in the air are but an illusion. A great poem.